The Opposite Side Of Living
by Alternate Reality1
Summary: When Doc's past comes back to haunt him...Now up to Chapter 14!
1. Just An Ordinary Day

**Chapter 1**

_January 22nd, 1986  
__11:31 a.m.  
__Hill Valley, California_

Marty McFly sat on the stool, watching curiously as sparks flew high into the air. He rested his head on his hand on the workbench beside him, wondering what concoction his friend Doc Brown was working on this time. The barn-converted-lab in which the scientist worked was quiet today, apart from the hissing caused by the blowtorch. Doc was intent on completing his newfound task before the end of the month, as he, Clara and their two sons were planning to go away on vacation – "somewhere tranquil and relaxing" Clara had specifically requested. She was still nervous about travelling great distances to places she found unfamiliar – even now, a couple of months after she had arrived in 1985 with her husband Emmett and their children, she still found it hard to navigate around Hill Valley.

Marty sat up from the workbench and stretched out his arms in front of him, content. He had to ask the question sooner or later, so why not now?

"Doc, why don't you just buy a new toaster? It's a lot less trouble, and it's guaranteed _not_ to blow the fuse in the electrics if it's not wired properly."

Doc lifted his head to the teenager, his face hidden by a mask to protect his face. He lifted it back to address the question, switching off the torch. "Why not? It's economically better than going out buying new things every time something develops a fault, and with two sons to bring up now I need to spend as little as possible on replacing items if we can avoid it."

"Yeah but Doc, it's just a toaster! I mean, I could give you one of ours if you really need one."

"That's very kind of you, Marty, but it's not necessary. Besides, what can go wrong?" Doc smiled, his confidence high. He stood the toaster up on its base, and plugged it into the socket across from him.

His words had come too soon, however. As soon as the plug made contact with the electricity supply a giant surge of electricity travelled into the toaster's circuitry, causing an overload and a big explosion to rip through the unit. Both Doc and Marty jumped back from the bang as the toaster jumped into the air and fell gracelessly back onto the workbench top.

Doc and Marty warily walked back to where the toaster lay, smoke rising from the two slits where the bread slotted in. Doc picked up the electrical device cautiously with his gloved hands, turned it around several times as he examined it, then tossed it into the bin that stood to the right-hand side of the workbench.

"So much for that attempt!" Doc sighed. He was never one for giving up so easily, but this time he felt he hadn't the energy to try again to fix the toaster. Marty had joined Doc at his side, and he too had examined the toaster. He gave Doc a shake of his head to agree with Doc – the toaster had won this time.

Doc turned to his younger friend to speak when he heard a frantic "Emmett!!" come from the direction of the barn door, and the heavy footsteps of his wife running in their direction. Doc knew his wife was always worried about him whenever he was working on a project. Right on cue the door of the barn flew open to reveal a fretful-looking Clara. She stared at Emmett as she ran over to in between the two men.

"Emmett, are you alright? What on earth happened?!?!?! I heard this most awful bang come from out here and…"

"I'm fine, Clara. It was just the toaster overloading, that's all. I must've mixed up a couple of the wires…" Doc thought out loud to himself. Clara placed her hands on Doc's face, giving him her own thorough examination to assure herself he was telling her the truth. She looked deep into his eyes. Her concern gradually faded as she dropped her hands to his and smiled.

"Honestly, Emmett! You and your inventions! Are you sure you're alright?" Clara pressed her husband.

"Affirmative, Clara." Doc replied as he looked over to Marty. Clara herself turned to look at Marty, who casually waved his hand to assure her he was alright also, as though nothing had happened. Clara smiled in reply, as she gradually made her way back over to the barn door.

"Are you sure, Marty?" Clara asked.

"Sure, Clara." Marty walked over to where Doc stood and turned to watch Clara leave, reluctantly. She smiled her acknowledgement as she closed the door behind her. Both Marty and Doc knew she worried about them too much, but understood that to her they were the only friends she really had.

Marty stepped forward, placing his hands in the back pockets of his jeans and sighing quietly. His head was bowed as though he was relieved; something that caught Doc's attention. He seemed rather uptight whenever he was in Clara's presence, which Doc had noticed of the young man ever since he had returned home.

"Marty? What's wrong?" Doc could read Marty like a newspaper. He often forgot that although it had been hard for him to readjust to 1985 life after spending ten years in the late 19th century, it must also be hard for Marty to adjust to his friend's new way of life. Before the changes Marty had felt Doc to be like a father to him. Now that Doc had two children, Marty felt he had lost that part of their relationship. Doc had become more of a friend again than a father.

"It's nothing, Doc, really." Marty lied. Doc knew it also.

"Don't give me that! I know something's bothering you, and I think I know what it is," Doc told his friend. "I think it has something to do with the new 'arrangements'."

"What? I don't - " Marty spurted out as he whipped around to view Doc

"Marty, I know you too well. I know it must be hard to adjust to things, especially after all the adventures we had and how time has changed. Believe me, I'm finding it just as hard. Suddenly having a family around me is especially hard to adjust to after all the years of living alone, although I did have some wonderful times with you." Doc placed a hand on Marty's shoulder. "Believe me, even through all these changes you will still remain an important figure in my life – nothing will ever change that." Marty looked up to him. Yep, Doc could definitely read his mind. He shrugged as to confirm Doc's suspicions, but his head remained bowed.

"I guess I'm still getting used to things. I mean, having two lots of memories was hard to figure at first, but now things don't feel as heavy." Marty lifted his head to look Doc in the eyes. "Also…well, I missed having you around, Doc. Things weren't the same when you left that day with Clara, Jules and Verne. I missed having someone to talk to, someone to confide in. Jesus, I even missed seeing Einstein!"

Doc stared back into Marty's eyes, understanding every word his friend said. "I know – I missed you too." For a long moment the two friends studied one another as a smile appeared on each of their faces. Marty was the first to make a move as he embraced Doc close. Doc shared the hug, burying his face in Marty's shoulder. It had been too long for him – after all, ten years had passed for Doc before he'd travelled to 1985 to retrieve Einstein and meet Marty again on the rail tracks. He'd had to wait ten years before he could relate to Marty all the wonderful memories of living back in the Old West, of marrying Clara and having a family at last, and of creating a new time machine – out of a locomotive!

Doc pulled back and placed his hands on Marty's arms. They both smiled in contentment. Looking at Marty, Doc knew he had done the right thing when he'd decided to move back to Hill Valley with his family. Nothing – not even time itself – could keep them apart.

Doc turned his head away towards the workbench where the remnants of the toaster still lay. It was then that his senses picked up an unusual sound – something grinding heavily down the street in the direction of his home. He turned his head towards the direction of the unfamiliar sound he had heard – in the direction of the barn doors. Marty's face gained an expression of concern as Doc slowly turned to face the doors, but then he too heard the roaring of an engine grinding to a halt, followed by the opening of a van door and a set of rhythmic clicks. Almost like the cocking of machine guns…

But before either could turn to the other in question to the noises a heavy thud against the great barn doors broke the silence. The doors burst open from the force, leaving Marty and Doc frozen to the spot and wide-eyed in fear at what they saw…


	2. Unexpected Arrivals

**Disclaimer:** I'm afraid I don't own the rights to such a great trilogy. Instead they are owned by the great people Bob Gale and Robert Zemeckis (and anyone I've left out), and without their creative minds I would not be writing this story.

I know this should also be on the first chapter, but I forgot to add it – sorry! Anyway, on with the story…

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Chapter 2 **

_January 22nd 1986  
__11:47 a.m.  
__Hill Valley, California_

The barn doors swayed with the impact they had received. The gang stood in a stance of warning, their machine guns pointing towards the friends from hip level. They all wore masks so as to conceal their identities. Their eyes showed threatening expressions – expressions of dare towards their prey to remain where they stood or face the consequences. They wore dark attire – tracksuits and trainers, mostly black and navy blue. They obviously didn't want to be recognised.

One of the gang members - five in total - stepped forward from the line they formed at the entrance to the barn, the obvious leader of this operation. He did not lower his gun at all when addressing his hostages.

"Doctor Brown! How good to see you again, and so soon!" The leader told in a low menacing tone. His accent was broken, although his English was competent. A dark grin spread across his face.

"Who are you, and what do you want?" Marty dared to ask the gang leader. Both Marty and Doc held their arms high in the air, to prove they were unarmed.

"Let's just say we are business associates of the good doctor here." The leader replied. "You may recall some time ago when we called on you to build a certain…_device_? A device that was meant to be planted in a location of our choice and explode?" He conveyed to Doc.

A realisation hit Doc of what was possibly being implied. He hoped to God that they weren't who he thought they were.

"We supplied some…_plutonium_ to you about six months ago, you recall?" his tone had grown lower.

Doc gasped silently to himself, his eyes widening. The Libyan terrorists! It couldn't be!! They'd come to kill him, surely!

The ringleader saw the realisation hit Doc and smirked in return. "We've come to take it back, Doctor Brown, since you won't be having any use for it now!"

Doc and Marty remained frozen to the spot as three of the gang members rushed into the barn and began to search through Doc's things. Doc prayed that they wouldn't go through the door to the left of where he was stood – where the train time machine was stored underground. He only hoped they would find the plutonium first, sitting underneath the workbench. Why on earth had he elected to keep that stuff anyway?

It didn't take the terrorists too long to find their property. Two of the terrorists carried the container back out into Doc's front driveway, where their van awaited them. The third covered their backs, walking out backwards and pointing his gun towards where Doc and Marty stood, ensuring their goods were safe.

Once the plutonium had been removed the ringleader turned to his other gang members. He appeared to speak in a foreign tongue – neither Marty nor Doc had any idea what he was saying until the group began to make their own way to the van. Their weapons remained pointed in Doc and Marty's direction as they backed away.

The leader was the last to leave. He eyed Doc carefully, attempting to judge his state of mind. "We must bid you farewell, Doctor Brown. Such a shame!"

He turned to head towards the van, lowering his gun. He then paused, however, as though an interesting thought had occurred to him. Marty frowned at this, wondering why the rebel was so reluctant to leave. He had a bad feeling the terrorist had not quite completed the task he had come to do.

"Oh… by the way, Doctor…"

The leader began to turn back to face Doc. He began to lift his machine gun up towards Doc's direction, a cold and deadly glaze coating his eyes. Marty saw the movement in slow motion, realising that the gun was aiming at his best friend.

What happened in the next few seconds were blurred to Doc. He saw the terrorist lift the gun to aim at his chest, ready to fire. Doc held his breath as he waited for the inevitable to happen, but then gasped in shock as he felt a force hit the right side of his body, pushing him hard towards the cement floor. The machine gun fired several rounds in their direction as Doc saw the side workbench come closer towards him. His head smacked the edge of the wood, knocking all conscious thought from him briefly as he continued to head towards the floor.

Doc felt the pain as he made contact with the cement at last, then winced as Marty followed and landed to the side of where he lay. The loud machine gun fire ceased once Doc had hit the floor.

Doc's thoughts slowly began to become hazy as his head began to ache from the impact on the workbench. His vision was unclear, but what he could see disturbed him badly. He could see the outline of the ringleader lower his deadly weapon to his side, and place his free hand into his pocket to remove what looked like a cigarette lighter. He lit the lighter and held it close to his face; the smirk on his face highlighted by the lighter's dancing flame.

" Kuuthekrd, Tuldun Pnufh..." - "_Goodnight, Doctor Brown…_" - the terrorist whispered to Doc as he threw the lighter onto a nearby rag that hung from a cupboard at the side of the barn. Immediately the rag caught fire, and smoke began to rise into the atmosphere – thick dark smoke that blackened everything it touched. The terrorist turned and left, leaving the two companions within the burning building. The van door slammed shut as the engine roared to life, and the last indication of the terrorists' presence was replaced with the roaring flames within the lab.

Doc's head began to ache even more, and his eyes began to feel heavy. Before he knew it his surroundings began to darken and become even fuzzier. The last thing he saw was the workbench go up in flames, and he swore he could hear his wife's voice scream out to him and Marty from outside. And then all consciousness left him, as he fell into a deep sleep…


	3. The Truth Can Sometimes Hurt

**Disclaimer:** Sadly, I only have the right to watch the films on DVD, listen to the soundtrack and anything else that I can legally do. I don't own BTTF. If I did then it would be a miracle looking at how many fans there are out there to compete with!

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**Chapter 3**

_January 22nd 1986  
__1:15 p.m.  
__Hill Valley Memorial Hospital, Hill Valley, California_

"He struck his head on the left-hand side, here, as you can see…"

"…does have a mild concussion, but I suspect this, mixed with the smoke inhalation, is…

"…we'll keep him in overnight, just to be sure, Mrs. Brown."

The activity around him gradually began to bring him back to reality. Doc could only make out the sounds around him at first. The light within the room was bright, and so he squinted hard when he tried to open his eyes. He lifted his hand to shield his eyes, causing a flurry of activity to burst out beside him as the figures realised he was coming to.

"Emmett? Emmett, are you all right?" Clara called to him, holding the hand he had lifted to his head.

"Doctor Brown?" A stranger's voice questioned. Emmett forced his eyes to open to discover the source of this new sound.

The first person he saw was a woman with dark hair tied back and wearing a long white coat. A stethoscope was hung around her neck, and a number of pens stuck out from her coat pocket. She appeared to be holding a clipboard when she spoke to him.

_The doctor_, Emmett thought to himself. _Great! I must be in hospital._

The doctor studied his face as she ran her hand over the side of his head. She then proceeded to shine a torch into Doc's eyes, holding them open with her other hand as Doc kept trying to shut them in response. After the doctor had finished Doc turned his attention elsewhere.

Doc turned his head to the right slightly to find his wife sat beside him holding his hand tenderly. Her eyes appeared to be red and puffy, as though she had been crying none-stop for a long time. Her hair was disorganised and loosely tied back; the sleeves on her black cardigan were pulled over her hands in insecurity. Doc saw the turmoil on her face, and gently lifted his hand to her to stroke her face - his attempt to calm her nerves and to reassure her that everything would be fine.

The returned expression she gave him however did not mirror his. She looked even more worried instead, almost like she held a secret she did not want to share with him. The doctor interrupted their silence.

"How do you feel Doctor Brown?"

"My head is really throbbing at the side here," Doc slowly sat up and pointed to the area in question. The doctor took another look at where he pointed, and then nodded in acknowledgement. Doc's expression turned to confusion. "What happened?" Doc asked.

"You struck your head, Doctor Brown. I believe you have a mild concussion, and you inhaled quite a lot of smoke from the fire, but I think you'll be fine. We just want to keep you in at least overnight to keep an eye on your condition," the woman doctor answered.

Doc took the young doctor's words in, but his confused expression did not alter. Clara began to worry again as he failed to show any response to what the doctor said.

"Emmett? What is it?"

"What fire? What concussion? When did all this happen? What exactly _did_ happen?" Doc glanced from one face to the other for any sign of an answer.

Clara turned to the doctor and smiled politely. "I'm sorry doctor, but I think I need to be with my husband alone for a while, if you don't mind."

The doctor returned the smile, nodding in agreement. "Of course, Mrs. Brown. If you need anything, please just ask."

"Thank you doctor," Clara answered as she followed the doctor out of the room. Doc watched as the two women exited and the door shut behind them. Clara did not return to his side until a few minutes later, obviously having talked to the doctor outside.

She closed the door softly behind her and made her way slowly back to Doc's side. She held her head low and avoided eye contact with her husband as she began:

"Emmett, I'm so sorry…I…I don't know what to say…do you remember anything that happened this morning? Anything at all?" She finally looked up at him, a slight flicker of hope appearing on her face. She hoped he could remember something – anything that would make her task a little easier to do – yet at the same time she hoped he would remember nothing of the terrible event that could – _would_ – scar him for the rest of his life.

"I don't remember much…I seem to recall…oh my God!" Emmett suddenly bolted upright in his bed as though a terrible recollection had just entered his mind. "The terrorists! The terrorists came to kill me, didn't they?!?!? The bastards! They came to reclaim the plutonium!"

Clara swallowed hard. "Yes, they did…"

"It's been 3 months! Why suddenly decide to come now?"

"I don't know. Emmett…

"Then there was the fire! Was there a fire at all?"

"Emmett, please! Yes there was a fire. Please, just listen to me," Clara begged. Doc frowned at her response. Something wasn't right.

"Clara…?"

"There were a group of terrorists," Clara eventually began. "I saw them approach our driveway when I was in the living room. I looked out of the window and saw them run past towards the barn. I ran to the back door and round to the back of the barn. I heard them kick the doors from around the corner of the building, but I didn't know what to do…" Clara looked down at Emmett's hand resting in hers. A tear trickled down her face as she continued.

"I heard them say something to you, and then I heard a clatter, as though things were being thrown about, or something like that"

"They had to look for the plutonium under the workbench," Emmett spoke softly.

"Yes. I saw two of them carry a box out to the van; that must have been the plutonium. I thought they were leaving but then I noticed them look back in the barn. I heard the shots…" Clara reached into the pocket of her cardigan to pull out another tissue, and wiped away the moisture from her eyes. "I panicked…I froze. I was sure they'd killed you!" Her voice had steadily become shakier as the story had moved on, until it had become almost a whisper.

Emmett placed his arm around his wife in comfort as again she broke down. She then shrugged away his support as she backed away. Emmett was about to ask why but was interrupted by Clara.

"They shot Marty…"

Emmett's eyes grew wide at the news. A lump began to appear in his throat as he tried to find the words he wanted to say.

"How…how is he?"

"The doctors – they said he was shot six times. They rushed him into surgery as soon as he arrived here…There was nothing they could do, Emmett. I'm so, so sorry…" Clara's voice faded to nothing as the emotion hit her harder than ever and she began to cry uncontrollably. She could not bear to look up to see if her husband had taken in the news.

She eventually plucked up the courage to look up at him. His eyes had glazed over, and he wore an expression of shock so disturbing Clara thought he had had a heart attack. She did the only thing she could do – she pulled her chair closer to Emmett and placed her arms around him. She buried her face in his chest to hide her face. She could hear his heart beat softly; his breathing was soft and slow, almost as though his breath had been stolen from him. It had after all.

"Well, there's only one thing for it then. As soon as I'm discharged out of the hospital I'm going to go back and prevent this from _ever_ happening." Emmett eventually concluded, as though it were not a problem. "I just need to go back, warn Marty that this is what is going to happen, then make sure the terrorists leave…"

"I'm…afraid that might be impossible." Clara remarked, sitting back from where she held him.

"Why? Clara?" Emmett asked as she failed to reply.

"The fire. It destroyed practically everything in the barn – including the time machine."

Emmett frowned, refusing to understand just what it was that she was implying. Then it seemed to sink in even more. The time machine was unusable, at least, for a short time he hoped.

"I mean, I could be wrong, Emmett. I don't know an awful lot about time machines, as you know, and it was hidden underground…" But no matter what Clara said to reassure him, he knew that she wouldn't have broken such news to him if she had thought the damage was not so great. For the first time he truly felt his heart sink within his chest. Of course he would have to examine the time machine himself, but he held out little hope.

Clara leaned forward to hold him again, and he bowed his head to hers and kissed the top of her head gently. Tears began to flow from his eyes, silently pouring out his grief. Clara lifted herself away from her husband to look at his face. She wiped away a stray tear, and then placed her hand on his right arm. Emmett hissed through clenched teeth as soon as her hand made contact. Clara pulled back immediately in concern. She lifted the hospital gown to inspect the area at the top of Emmett's arm, and revealed a long, dark bruise to be the culprit of his pain. Clara's concern turned to confusion at what had caused such a bruise. She looked to her husband for the answer, but he seemed just as bewildered.

"Where did this come from? I don't remember being hit by anything. Maybe I was hit during the fire…?"

"Maybe. Maybe it was the fire fighter when he was carrying you out of the barn. When they were rescuing you."

Emmett seemed to believe that explanation was logical. Even so, it still stung like mad. His memories of the incident began to become clearer to him as time went by. He began to sift through what he could remember.

First he could remember working on…something in the lab. Marty must have been with him helping out, as he usually did. Then there were the terrorists. They must've stormed through the barn doors from what Clara had described. He remembered seeing their weapons; guns of some sort, and then seeing them take the plutonium. Then things began to get hazy. He could remember shots being fired at him, but not hitting him. How could…

Emmett gasped in pure horror as the realisation kicked in at last. Clara jumped, surprised at this sudden outburst. Emmett lifted a hand to cover his gaping mouth.

"I never realised…Oh…my…God…" he whispered to himself.

"Emmett, what is it?" Clara placed her hand on his.

"The leader turned to shoot me for not making them a bomb as they requested, just as he was about to leave. They shot at me but didn't actually hit me. I know how this bruise was caused," Emmett rubbed his arm, pain coming from both the bruise and the memory of what created it. "They would have killed me, had Marty not pushed me out of the way..."

"He saved my life, Clara. He saved me and now he's dead because of how stupid I was to even think of dealing with those no-good bastards."

Clara's eyes shone as new tears formed. She could do nothing to help her husband through this, nothing at all. She had lost the ability to form the words of comfort she wanted to say. All she could do was watch as her husband's spirit died within.

"It should have been me who died there, Clara, not Marty. And now, he's gone for ever…"

Slowly Clara took Emmett into her embrace, and remained there for a long time to come. She feared if she let him go he would simply crumble into a million pieces. She knew he needed her more than ever now. He had lost his best friend of over six years - his time travelling companion. And, worst of all, the irony was that now even time travel itself could not bring Marty back to life.

_

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I've revised this chapter, as I hadn't realised I'd missed an important detail (I think you might guess what that was!). I mentioned why Doc couldn't go back but it's in chapter 4. Just thought I'd clear up the confusion! Sorry about that._


	4. Seeing Ghosts

**Chapter 4**

_January 25th 1986  
__1:57 p.m.  
__136 Mayfair Drive (Emmett & Clara's family home), Hill Valley, California_

The taxi door opened smoothly as the vehicle's occupants stepped out onto the pavement. First to exit the car had been Clara, as she lifted out the small holdall containing some of Doc's things. He too exited from the back of the vehicle, his face carrying his grief all too clearly. His white feathery hair was untidy, which was unusual of him. His clothes drooped helplessly about his person, as he had no reason to care about his appearance. Clara turned and smiled gently as she watched him make his way to the front door of their house. The cab driver beeped his horn impatiently, wanting his fare. Clara pulled a couple of notes from her pocket and handed them to the driver, thanking him for the assistance he had offered them both. Clara had ordered the taxi, for she had yet to learn to drive, and Emmett certainly wasn't going to be able to drive for a while with his emotions in disarray.

Emmett and Clara had been unable to go back into their home until the police had finished examining the scene, which had been the day before. Clara was going to leave Jules and Verne with a neighbour to be looked after, but then Jennifer had offered to look after them as soon as she had heard that Doc had been rushed to hospital. Clara had been the one who had had to deliver the bad news to Jennifer about Marty; a task that had been just as difficult as it had been when telling Emmett the news. Clara had felt the ache in Jennifer's heart from her expression, as Jennifer had literally collapsed in tears. Clara didn't want to hurt her anymore, but Jennifer had been persistent in helping in any way she could. "Besides," she told Clara, "it might help me to calm down." Clara, however, knew that would be impossible for her.

Doc turned the key in the lock to allow him access to a place of security. Just as he was about to step into the hallway Doc made the fatal mistake of looking to the side towards where his laboratory once stood. Some of the remains of the building still lay where they had fallen - a hefty reminder of the incident that had taken place a few nights ago, and of the price Doc had paid with his friend's life.

Emmett entered the living room to see his sons stood in the centre, their faces showing sympathy and sadness. Jules, the elder of the two boys at age 8, was the first to speak to their father.

"Hi, dad. How're you feeling?" he asked solemnly. His father walked up to him and knelt before them both, placing a hand on each of their shoulders.

"I'm feeling a lot better, thank you." Emmett smiled a half smile, hoping his sons would not see the hurt in his face. Verne, who was two years younger than his brother, knew his dad wasn't telling him the truth.

"We know, dad. We can see you're upset," he told his father. "That's why we want to help you, with whatever we can."

Emmett saw the sincereness in his son's eyes, and knew that he needed his family around him more than ever now. In one swift move he took his sons into a warm embrace, holding them tighter than ever, never wanting to let them go. It had only been over the last few days that Emmett came to realise how important life was, and how easily it could be taken for granted.

Clara entered the doorway of the living room just as Emmett was reaching out to hug his sons. She saw how hard he held onto them, as tears began to stream down his face. She could only imagine how much Emmett wanted it to be Marty he was holding on to, the "unofficial" son he had cared for, loved and protected through the hardest of times. Even though personally Clara had only known Marty for a couple of months she had felt the strong affection they had held for one another.

Emmett sensed her presence and looked up towards her. She smiled softly, turning to leave towards the kitchen to give him some time alone. He smiled back, knowing here was where he was best to be, surrounded by the love and support of his family. Softly, he whispered "Thank you" to whoever may have heard him.

January 27th 1986  
_9:12 a.m.  
__Brown family home, Hill Valley_

Emmett knew only too well the day as it had arrived that morning. The day he had dreaded so much during the past week had now come so abruptly. Clara was frantically racing after Jules and Verne, trying to get them ready in time for when they were to head out for the church. Emmett stood in front of the tall mirror housed in his and Clara's bedroom, straightening the collar of his shirt under his black suit. He could hear Clara in the room next door – Verne's room – trying to encourage her youngest to put his shoes on properly. Jules was already prepared, but his younger brother had been busy on his computer game to notice the time go by.

Clara, concerned at what time it was now as they were due to be at the church for half past nine, had to keep reminding Verne of the reason why they were going to church, and why he needed to behave especially today for his father's sake.

"Verne, you need to get a move on, or we'll be late!" she tried to urge her son. Verne watched as she straightened his tie and smoothed down his suit jacket. "You know today is going to be hard for all of us, especially for your dad, so we all need to help out as much as we can today. OK?"

"Yes, mom. I'm sorry." Verne replied to his mother, the words full of meaning.

"I know you are sweetheart, I know." Clara replied, holding her son close as she kissed his head. "Now run downstairs and wait with your brother in the living room. Remember, no fighting!"

"Yes, mom." Verne kissed his mother on the cheek, then rushed downstairs to where his brother was. Clara watched him leave before her mind turned to other things.

She exited Verne's bedroom and made her way to hers. She walked in to find her husband standing before the mirror, looking down at his suit and trying to make it look as tidy as possible. Clara's long black skirt swayed from side to side as she walked to the back of her husband. Delicately she placed her hands on his shoulders and began to sweep down the suit.

"You look fine, dear," she told him. "How do you feel?"

"I don't know how I feel," he replied, allowing Clara to straighten the collar on his jacket. "I guess I'm still in shock."

"It's understandable," she answered, resting her hands on his arms in reassurance. "I just want you to know that you're not on your own with this. I'm here to offer you any support that I can."

"I know, and believe me I am very grateful." Emmett turned to look back in the mirror. "I can't believe that this day has ever come. To think that I have outlived Marty is absurd. This isn't how it was supposed to happen. I _saw_ his future with Jennifer and his children. What changed that made time turn out the way it has?" Emmett saddened at this thought. Clara could see his distress.

"Like you always say, the future isn't written. It can be changed by anything, even by the smallest detail. We will never know why this terrible thing happened. But I do know one thing," Clara pointed out.

"And that is…?"

"If Marty were here now, he wouldn't want you to go on for the rest of your life blaming yourself for his death. There was no way you could have known those terrorists were going to come."

"I know that. But if I hadn't been so stupid to even become involved with those terrorists then Marty would not have been killed!" Emmett became more and more exasperated with himself.

"Yes but he died because he placed himself in the line of fire to protect you! To me, that is the bravest thing a person could do. You must never forget that Emmett." Clara saw the emotion build up in him again. She wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly. "Remember all the good times you had together. Keep those memories close to your heart, Emmett. Then you will never forget." She whispered into his ear. She felt him nod his head in agreement, along with a softly spoken reply:

"I will never forget, Clara. Never."

Clara stepped back to look at her husband. His face told of the exhaustion his body must've felt from grieving over the past few days, and his eyes showed the faintest whisper of heartache. She gently wrapped her arm around his, and smiled the sweetest of smiles. Slowly they walked out of the room and down the stairs towards the living room, hand in hand in support for the ordeal ahead.

Although Clara had been against allowing Emmett to drive, Emmett had been determined to see it through. She had no choice but to agree, and so she and the boys made their way to the blue van Emmett had bought only a month ago. Emmett was the last to leave the house, locking the front door behind him as he did so. Jules and Verne were already in the back and Clara in the front passenger seat waiting for Emmett to lock up.

Doc turned to walk towards the van when he suddenly stopped in his tracks. He could hear a faint rumbling sound, as though something small was running along on wheels along the pavement. Like, a skateboard, perhaps? Doc recognised the sound almost right away, and before he could stop himself his instincts had kicked in.

_Marty!_

He began to pick up speed as he made his way down the driveway. Looking to where the driveway met the road Doc waited impatiently to see the figure riding the skateboard towards him.

But as soon as he saw the figure his heart sank. A small teenage boy - about 12 or 13 - rolled by on a black skateboard. He looked over to where Doc stood, not noticing the apparent disappointment etched on the scientist's face as he rode by. He smiled at the enjoyment of letting the breeze sweep by him as the skateboard effortlessly glided along the pavement. His blonde hair floated effortlessly in the wind as he travelled on down the road before turning left up the adjacent road and disappearing out of sight.

Doc watched as the young boy rode past, his nerves finally settling and his muscles relaxing. _What was I thinking? I must be going out of my mind!_

He then smiled faintly to himself. _I'm sure gonna miss that kid!_ he thought faintly, the memories all flooding back. _If only I could see him one last time…_

But Emmett knew better than that. To risk destroying the entire space-time continuum for his own personal gain would not work at all. He knew if there was some way he could bring Marty back then he would. But with the time machine out of action – damaged due to the fire – Emmett knew it would take time before he could even begin to come up with any part of a plan.

As soon as the thoughts had entered his head they had disappeared again. He opened the driver's door to the van, where a worried Clara sat.

"Emmett? What is it? What did you see?"

Emmett tried to smile at her reassuringly. "Nothing. Nothing important, anyway." He placed the keys in the ignition and turned on the engine. "I thought I saw someone I knew, that's all."

He took in a deep breath to calm his nerves as the engine roared to life, and steadily he directed the van on towards their destination.


	5. This Can't Be Happening

**Disclaimer:** BTTF is the best thing going. This is just my tribute to it, so please don't sue me!

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**Chapter 5**

_January 27th 1986  
__9:45 a.m.  
__Oak Park Cemetery, Hill Valley, California_

A cold, weak breeze engulfed the mourners at the cemetery. A light frost covered the grass within the graveyard, adding to the sorrow of the atmosphere this particular day.

Within the large confines of the cemetery a small congregation stood. All present wore black clothing in mourning for the figure lying within the coffin at the centre of the funeral.

Lorraine McFly sat to one side of the coffin containing the body of her youngest son. Her eyes were red and puffy, and her face wore an expression of shock and confusion. George McFly stood respectively behind her, one hand resting on her shoulder for reassurance and his head bowed. David and Linda McFly stood to one side of their parents, David with his arm around his sister to help support her as she grieved.

Jennifer was also present, near to where the McFlys were positioned. Her head remained low in sorrow as the tears streamed down her face. She silently cried to herself, too afraid to really admit to herself that this was all for real; that this was happening and wasn't some sort of nightmare that she was soon to wake from.

Emmett stayed on the opposite side to the McFly family with Clara, Jules and Verne. Although the McFlys now accepted Doc as the person he was (thanks in part to Marty's insistence, not to mention the havoc he had created when he had been sent back to 1955 and had screwed up his parents' first meeting), he still felt they should have their own private space. After all, not everyone in Hill Valley had fully accepted him - yet.

The reverend stood at the head of the gathering, reading aloud to everyone present for the burial upon a small podium. He opened the book in his hands and began to read a selection of passages. Doc began to reflect in his own mind as the reverend spoke:

**_"I am the Resurrection and the life, saith the Lord..."_**

_Well, this is it. This is the last time I will see my friend, forever…_

**_"…he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live; and whosoever liveth and believeth in me shall never die."_**

_…I wonder if Marty can see or hear what's being said about him? I wonder if he's present at all…_

**_"I know that my Redeemer liveth, and that he shall stand at the latter day upon the earth…"_**

Emmett looked to his wife and gently took her hand in his. He felt useless somehow, and ashamed to even be present as he still felt an immense guilt for allowing this to happen.

**_"…and though after my skin worms destroy this body, yet in my flesh shall I see God; whom I shall see for myself, and mine eyes shall behold, and not another."_**

A tall man, stood beside the reverend. He subtly shifted his weight and flicked what appeared to be a switch by his feet. The coffin almost immediately began to descent into the earth beneath as the reverend continued.

**_"We brought nothing into this world, and it is certain we can carry nothing out..."_**

Doc felt his heart sink as the coffin dropped further and further into the depths of the ground. Lorraine began to sob harder as finally the mechanism ground to a halt and the coffin reached its limit. A couple of men stepped forward to undo some straps that had been fastened to the coffin, then gently stepped back to allow two more men to begin the process of burying. Concluding, the reverend closed his Bible softly as he made a sign of the cross with his hand.

**_"The Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord. Amen."_**

Lorraine stood from her place and knelt down to pick up some of the soil. She peered down into the earth, her arm frozen over the hole dug into the soil. She whispered something to herself – a sweet prayer – before allowing the soil to drop from her hand and fall into the opening. George swept her up into his arms as he guided her away from the opening, and gradually the congregation followed behind. Doc led his sons in the direction of the crowd, not wishing to stay as the burial was completed.

The two gravediggers set to their task as the crowd disbanded. Within a few minutes the hole was no more, and as Doc turned to look at the place where Marty now lay to rest, he saw a final reminder that this was the end for sure. He closed his eyes, and turned back to join his family, as the lasting image of Marty's headstone died away from his mind:

_Here lies:  
_**_Martin Seamus McFly  
_**_Born **9th June 1968  
**__Died **22nd January 1986  
**__Aged 17 years_

_May he rest in peace._

* * *

First thing's first. I am NO good with html files, so the above six or so lines should really be in the centre. Sorry it loses its effect. If anyone can give me some advice I'd be grateful. Also thanks for all the reviews so far, glad you like it since this is my first fic!


	6. A Life Less Ordinary

**Disclaimer:** I'm sure you know what this is by now. I don't own any rights. Enjoy!

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**Chapter 6**

_August 3rd 1989  
__12:22 p.m.  
__Brown family home, Hill Valley, California_

The front door of the house swiftly opened to reveal the bold outline of Jules Brown. Earlier that morning he had rushed out of the house to get to the library as it opened. His mother hadn't even had chance to ask where he was going before he was out of the front door and down the driveway on his bike.

Today the temperature was high, and all the school kids were out playing. The school holidays had come in full force. Jules, though, had preferred to spend a lot of his time in his room, supposedly "researching" something for his own project. Over the past couple of years he had become more fascinated with the wonderful world of the supernatural and the afterlife. Clara believed he had been influenced by the sad events surrounding Marty's death; he had often questioned his parents about why people died, what happened to them once they had died, and was it possible to ever bring them back to life. The last question had always been the most difficult for Clara to answer. She could sense the desire Jules had to help his father overcome his grief and smiled at the thought, but she could not explain to him that once a person passed on up to Heaven then they would never come back.

As a god-fearing Christian, Clara had taught her children all about Heaven and Hell – that those who respected this world and was good to the rest of mankind deservedly earned their right to go to Heaven. Those who chose the immoral path of life deserved to face their sins in Hell.

Clara respected her son's newfound interest in the afterlife, and so questioned it no more. Her younger son – Verne, who was now nine years old (two years younger than Jules) – however, had discovered a fascination with science. He often helped his father with any experiments he may have been working on, and loved to conduct his own (even though he had set fire to the living room rug – twice!). Both boys were talented at the subjects they had chosen to become their vocations, and even sometimes took an interest in each other's.

Jules made his way through the long, narrow hall to the room at the far end. Clara turned to watch as her elder son stepped into the kitchen, his red rucksack carried on his shoulder. He dropped the rucksack beside the dining table as he sat himself down. Clara turned from the worktop where she was working to address him more clearly.

"Good afternoon Jules!" she exclaimed sarcastically. "May I ask to where you were headed in such a hurry this morning?"

"Oh, just the library, that's all mum," he calmly replied. Clara walked to the dining table to place a plate of sandwiches before Jules.

"Why the rush, though?" she probed further. Jules began to tuck into his sandwiches.

"No reason. I like to get there early, before all the other kids get in and take all the good books."

Clara frowned at his answer. She didn't think _all_ the kids in Hill Valley held such enthusiast for the library like Jules did. However, she felt that the subject had gone dead, judging by how Jules had got stuck into his lunch. She gradually turned to head back towards the worktop when she heard the back door open abruptly behind her.

Emmett stepped in wearing his white oil-stained lab coat and overalls. He had been working in the laboratory all morning with his youngest son Verne, who also wore a pair of grimy old jeans and a worn-out sweatshirt. He too stepped into the kitchen. Jules looked up to see his father enter with his brother, and pulled his face when he saw the state they were both in.

"Ah! Good afternoon Jules! How are you today?" Emmett asked in sincerity.

"I'm alright dad," he replied, watching his dad walk towards the sink to wash his hands. Verne mirrored his father at the sink, then joined Jules at the dining table.

While Clara and Emmett were preoccupied with other matters, Jules saw the opportunity to speak to his brother in private.

"Guess what? I got it Verne!" he spoke enthusiastically but kept the volume low. "It finally came in this morning."

"What? That book you've been going on about for the past fortnight or so?" Verne looked at him with an unsure expression – one of disbelief rather than confusion.

"Yeah! I tell you, this is going to be so cool! I've got it all planned out – "

"Got what all planned out?" Emmett overheard Jules. He noticed their secrecy by their postures.

"Oh, just a scientific experiment Jules and I are planning, that's all!"

"Yeah, a rather interesting experiment we've been wanting to do for ages, ain't that right Verne?" Jules elbowed Verne in the side as a hint.

"Sure!" They both tried to wear an innocent look on their faces. It apparently worked.

"Hmm…would you two be needing any help with this experiment?"

"NO!" The two boys shouted in unison before they'd even realised it. Emmett started at their snapped responses in surprise.

"Sorry dad, we didn't mean it like that. We just want this to be a…erm…"

"…surprise, for your birthday!" Verne filled in for his brother. They both turned to one another and smiled. Emmett eyed them closely, but then relaxed as he felt they could come to no harm – he thought.

"OK, if you suppose so," he replied, turning to look at Clara for her view. She nodded, although somewhat reluctantly. "Just be sure you don't do anything dangerous," he added.

"We won't dad," Verne replied, looking to his mother for her reassuring smile, which he received. Clara made her way over to the table to place Verne's sandwiches before him, but then almost dropped them as an unexpected knock at the front door called out.

"I'll answer that," Emmett responded before Clara had the chance to ask who it could possibly be. Her answer came not too long after, as Emmett called to Jules.

"Jules! Peter's here to see you!"

Jules lifted his head to hear his father's call, then frowned as he took in the message. "Peter? What does he want?"

"I dunno, but you better go find out." Verne responded.

"We'll talk later then, up in your room," Jules assumed as he slid his chair away from the table and made his way to the door, not hearing Clara's protest at him leaving half of his sandwiches uneaten.

"Jules! Finish your lunch first! Jules!!" He didn't hear though. Verne smirked ever so slightly at his apparent deafness (only brought on when he wanted it to), and more so when he heard the front door shut. He didn't dare to look at his mother though.

Clara stood with hands on hips, furious that Jules hadn't heard her calls. She fixed her gaze upon Verne in warning if he was even thinking of doing the same thing.

"You had better finish your dinner Verne, or else I will be annoyed!" she warned gently, before returning to the cooking she was undertaking for them to eat later on.

By this time Emmett had returned to the kitchen to catch Clara give a stern warning to her youngest. The smile on Verne's face disappeared as he took heed of what Clara said, and instead the smile appeared on Emmett's face. He knew Clara wasn't that harsh to her children, and that she would never dream of punishing them – only if they ever did something really terrible. It just simply wasn't in her nature. She was the kindest woman Emmett had ever known, or knew now for that matter.

Verne quickly finished his lunch as ordered and carefully placed his plate by the sink, ready to wash. Clara looked on as he did so, and then gave a content smile to him – which he did not see – as he made his way through the hall to the stairs. Emmett too smiled, as he wrapped his arms around Clara's waist and lovingly rested his head on her shoulder.

"My my, Mrs. Brown, you certainly know how to raise children."

"You keep forgetting I was a teacher before I met you." She giggled playfully as she pecked him on the cheek, touching his nose lightly to leave a patch of flour from her hands. He laughed in return, and hugged her closer.

"How is the time machine coming along, Emmett?" she questioned softly, his face by hers on her shoulder.

His expression saddened as he thought about the progress he had made. Three and a half years before the machine had been badly damaged in the fire, which had consumed the barn. He had managed to salvage what he could from the remains of the vehicle, such as a few of the circuits, the flux capacitor (thankfully that had remained untouched), and a number of other parts; but the time circuits, many of the microchips and wires on the exterior of the train had been badly damaged, especially when part of the lab floor had collapsed onto the train, where it had been stored underground.

The damage wasn't as serious as Emmett had first feared; that was, until work commenced on repairing the train. Three and a half years later, and the train was almost nearing the end stages of repair.

Emmett sighed deeply. "It's almost complete," he replied.

Clara looked to him, confused. "Then why do you feel disheartened? Surely this is what you've been working towards? Or is something else bothering you?"

"No, no. I'm pleased we've got this far. Verne has been a tremendous help with the project. He's been a wonderful assistant to me." Clara could feel where Emmett was heading with the conversation. "I just wish it hadn't taken me so long to finish the repairs, though. Three years is a long time to wait for someone to return. I have missed him deeply, Clara, and I feel so responsible for everything that happened. I wish…I wish…"

"…you wish you weren't so afraid to go back and prevent Marty's death." He pulled his head away slightly to look at her. His eyes told her she had guessed accurately. "Why _are _you so afraid though?"

"I don't know. Maybe it's because I've never done this sort of thing before. I mean, the first time Marty was the one who prevented me from being killed by the terrorists. He also saved my life against Buford Tannen. But what if this goes wrong? What if, no matter what I do to save him it doesn't work and he remains…well, you know…"

"I think I understand," Clara answered. "However, I know you much better than that, Emmett Brown." She smiled as she studied the lost expression developing on his face.

"What do you mean by that?"

"Well, paradox or no paradox you will bring Marty back. I know you will, because you care for him too deeply. He's your best friend. You would if it was one of the boys who had died, or me."

"You know I would."

"And I also know that if the time machine hadn't been destroyed in the fire like it was you would have already gone back to change the course of history."

Emmett smiled at her lovingly. She knew him too well - even better than he knew himself. And she was correct. If the time machine had survived the fire then there would have been no question as to him travelling through the space-time continuum to prevent the incident from ever happening at all. But now a three-year gap separated his time from the time the incident occurred, and Emmett was unsure as to the repercussions of such an intervention. He couldn't stop the event from happening, as he would surely cause a major paradox. The time machine wouldn't be repaired, thus he wouldn't have been able to travel back in time and prevent the incident.

The problem lay in how to protect Marty without endangering the space-time continuum. He needed to think out a logical plan that would allow him to achieve his aims.

Somehow it had to happen.

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_  
Thanks for all the great reviews, I'm glad so many of you like it so far. _


	7. Night Of The Living Dead

**Disclaimer:** see previous chapters. You know the routine…Back to the Future has to be the best, no matter what some of my friends might think at college – you know who you are!

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**Chapter 7**

_August 3rd 1989  
__10:59 p.m.  
__Oak Park Cemetery, Hill Valley, California_

"Jules, slow down! What's the hurry?"

"Oh, quit whining, will ya?!?"

Jules had heard enough of his brother's high-pitched, droning voice tonight to last him a lifetime. All the way from home, down the road, through Lone Pine Mall down to the cemetery gates Verne had done nothing but complain about how late it was, how tired he was from the long bike ride to the cemetery and how daft he thought Jules' plan was.

Jules thought then for a brief moment how ironic it was he wanted to kill his brother if he didn't shut up, and that he was already in the cemetery to bury him. Nobody would know…

"Are we nearly there yet?"

Jules' thoughts were interrupted, however, before they could be completed. "Verne, will you do me a favour and shut up for more than two seconds already? Jeez, I wish I hadn't told you about this now."

Prior to their engagement at the cemetery Jules had met up with his brother in his younger brother's bedroom in the early evening. He had shown Verne the book he had borrowed from the library, and had discussed further the 'plan' he had been conceiving for the past few months.

Jules wanted to be sure that Verne wasn't going to betray him to mum or dad, and to be sure he had made him pledge an oath that if he did spiders would appear in the bathtub, and his bed and his…

"OK! OK! I promise! I promise I won't tell mom or dad about your little plan!" Verne had finally screamed out. "Just, please, _no more spiders_!" He hated spiders, and Jules knew it from the small feeling of satisfaction he had received from seeing his brother cower at the oath.

Jules had decided to go late at night – to sneak out when their parents were sleeping to avoid any suspicion. If their father, especially, knew what the boys were planning he would surely _kill_ them…

Jules used his torch to search the marble headstones that littered the dark, abandoned graveyard. The place reminded Verne of a film he'd watched recently – Night of the Living Dead – although he had to watch that late at night as Clara and Emmett felt he was too young to be watching such a film. The light of the torch flashed as it skipped from one headstone to another, to another…until Jules found the headstone belonging to Martin Seamus McFly.

"Found it!" he whispered to Verne, who he assumed had followed behind. Verne peered over his shoulder to confirm Jules had indeed found what they wanted.

"Are you sure about this Jules? I mean – have you ever done anything like this before?" Verne questioned his elder sibling. A nervous edge to his voice had begun to creep in; a fact Jules had obviously noticed.

"No, but how hard can it be?" Jules shrugged his shoulders calmly, while inside his stomach was churning with fright. "All we have to do is follow what the book says, right?" He didn't receive a reply. Nervously Jules glanced behind him to Verne. Verne's mind appeared to be all over the place, staring at the many shadows cast upon the graves under the moonlight.

"I've learned everything I need to know about how to do this kind of thing. I've been building myself up for this for the past three years. I know what I'm doing," Jules said calmly to his brother. He didn't think he was listening anyway.

Jules rolled his eyes. Slowly he knelt beside the grave and placed his rucksack on the ground beside him. He removed the contents one by one – the book, containing the recipe needed to complete the task; a small ivory-handled dagger for protection; a bottle of rainwater; some fresh pig's blood; dry timber and matches to light a fire; four white candles; salt and a cross – the 'symbol of life' according to the book. Verne knelt by the other side of the headstone, looking on nervously as Jules prepared his equipment.

"What if this doesn't work, Jules? I mean, how do we even know it's gonna work?"

"Just have a little faith, Verne. God, it's not like the whole universe is gonna end, is it?" Jules looked up to see the response on Verne's face. Verne looked afraid at what they were about to do; Jules knew deep down inside he felt the same way. However, he wasn't the type to show his real feelings.

Swiftly Jules stood, and taking the salt he proceeded to draw out a salt trail in the shape of a circle, surrounding the grave, himself and Verne. Once the circle was complete Jules cast the excess salt away, dusting himself down as he knelt once more by the grave.

"That's for protection, in case any bad spirits try to harm us," Jules answered Verne before he had the chance to ask. Verne's expression showed he didn't look very reassured.

Jules placed the candles at each of the four corners of the grave, forming a square inside the circle of salt. Carefully he lit each one in turn, ensuring they would remain standing throughout the ritual upon the uneven earth. He then propped the book up against the headstone and opened the book to a page he had already marked using a piece of paper. He quickly glanced over the page's contents to be sure he knew exactly what to do, then stretched out his arms in front of him in a meditative posture and took in a deep breath as he steadied his nerves. He almost jumped out of his skin when Verne touched his arm.

"Whoa, take it easy! What are you doing?" Verne asked shakily.

Jules took another deep breath – to keep himself from choking Verne. "Don't do that Verne! Don't you realise how dangerous it is to interrupt someone who's trying to cast a spell? God knows what could've happened then if I'd started!"

"Sorry! How am I supposed to know?"

"You only know what you need to know, so be quiet." Verne pulled a face at him. "I'm casting the Lesser Banishing Ritual of the Pentagram to protect us, alright?" he asked sarcastically.

"Yeah, I s'pose," was Verne's response. He didn't look very comfortable with the arrangements.

Jules began to chant as he placed his hand back into his rucksack to find the final item he would need for the ritual – a photograph of Marty, taken a few days before he died. He carefully placed the picture on the centre of the grave.

Swiftly and accurately Jules picked up the jar of pig's blood and started to poor the contents onto the soil around where Marty's picture lay, chanting from the book of spells and chants propped up against the headstone. Verne watched anxiously as he did so, slowly beginning to wish that he hadn't opted to help Jules.

Jules then reached by his side and began to sprinkle the rainwater over the grave, repeating his chants and holding the cross in his right hand close to his chest. His eyes remained closed throughout all.

He then placed the dry timber upon Marty's picture, and removed one of the matches. Striking hard against the matchbox, the match came to life, illuminating Jules and Verne's faces with its flickering fire. Shadows cast upon the headstone wavered in the flame's presence as Jules stared into the heart of the fire, chanting in Latin:

­­­­­­­­­­­­­­_"_­_Spirits of the Afterlife awaken,_

_Hear my wishes to you and answer them in good faith,_

_Please help to return the friend we have lost,_

_Allow his spirit to reawaken._

_I beg of your judgement and respect your views,_

_I plea to you to show your judgement through the extinguishing of the flames and through the binding of the blood, water and soil with the given fire to bring to life the body we kneel before._

_I speak only of the truth, and demand of you only this."_

He carefully lowered the flame into the dry timber. The wood caught fire almost instantly. Jules completed his chants while the fire continued to grow, and then all that could be heard was the crackling of the burning wood.

Verne was sure he could hear whispers in the trees surrounding him, and that a cold wind had suddenly appeared. He could feel the presence of someone – or something – circle their location, speaking to him, calling out to him and Jules. He wanted to believe he was only being paranoid, but then he couldn't shake the feeling that someone was watching them…

Verne looked to Jules for a sign that he had finished and that everything was okay. Jules caught his nervous look, and endeavoured to calm his mind.

"The chant is complete," he explained to Verne as he returned his attention to the fire. "It shouldn't be long now. All I have to do is repeat the Lesser Banishing Ritual, just to be sure that any evil spirits don't remain with us."

Slowly he raised the dagger into the air, and while again chanting outlined the shape of a pentagram before him with an outstretched arm. Verne looked about him, paranoid and afraid that Jules' spell of protection hadn't worked. He started to sweat with fear, and his eyes widened at every little sound he heard or movement he saw. Yet Jules seemed as calm as always.

"Jules, how long will we have to wait?" Verne asked shakily. The sooner they were home the better.

"Not long. We should know whether the spell has worked or not when the candles blow out," Jules replied. He began to pack away his equipment – the spell book, the matches, the bottle and jar that the rainwater and blood had been in respectively, and the cross.

* * *

"Jules! It hasn't worked! The candles are still lit!" Verne remarked after nearly twenty minutes of waiting. He gestured to the still glowing flames on each of the four candles to emphasise his point. "Let's just forget about this whole thing and go home. I really don't like it around here.

"What's there to be frightened of? It just takes time, that's all. Besides, you're just scared that mom and dad will find out about us sneaking off to the cemetery in the middle of the night, that's all!" Jules retorted.

"Am not!" Verne snapped back, although the strength in his reply was missing. He was still frightened.

"Scared of the ghosts, Verne?" Jules taunted. He loved every minute of it.

Jules glanced up at his brother to find him looking round nervously about the burial ground. He shook his head at his brother's apparent paranoia, and wondered whether to wind him up even further with a trick or two.

However, he didn't need to. Verne heard the snapping of a twig behind him, which was enough to send him over the edge. His eyes – now wide with terror – could not detect the reason for the branch snapping. He began to breathe heavily in panic - even more so when he thought he heard his name being spoken to him…

"Verne? Hey, snap out of it, dork! _VERNE!_"

Verne jumped as his name was shouted at him. He quickly scrambled to his feet, and within a matter of seconds was running down the path in the direction of the entrance to the cemetery. Jules jumped back himself at the response he received when attempting to snap Verne out of his paranoia. He watched helplessly as Verne ran from the site of the ritual, reluctant to leave the grave. He desperately shoved the rest of his belongings into his rucksack and headed in the direction his brother had gone, leaving the dying embers behind him.

What he had failed to notice in his rush, however, were the dying flames on the candles surrounding the grave. The fire died as the wood turned to ashes, and silence momentarily filled the air.

The crackling of the flames, present only a moment ago, was soon replaced by a very mysterious and very quiet banging, muted by the thick layers of soil covering the source of the sound. A desperate knocking on wood and cries for help, made by someone frantically trying to escape the coffin prison they had become trapped in deep below the surface of the earth, where no one knew where they lay…

* * *

_Thanks for all the reviews!_

_Hey Linkavitch Chomofsky! The SPE of the timeline - interesting theory. I suppose there has to be something to preserve the timeline, but then again you could say this is similar to fate in a way..._

_I don't know whether to believe it or not, but it does (kinda) tie in with the end of this story. You'll see what I mean when we get there - if we ever get there! ;-)_


	8. Altered State

**Disclaimer:** I don't own BTTF. That explains that.

This is for Halloween – it's not scary, but it fits with the occasion. Enjoy, and reviews are welcome…

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**Chapter 8**

_August 3rd 1989  
__Time unknown  
__Oak Park Cemetery, Hill Valley, California_

His first clear sense was of a feeling of confinement and uneasiness. His body felt of nothing but aches and pains, yet strangely enough he felt something soft underneath him and he was comfortable.

Cautiously Marty forced open his eyes to widen the picture he was getting. His eyelids felt heavy and sticky, and his vision was blurred like mist. He steadily lifted his hand to his eyes to attempt to clear them, but instead his hand hit something hard just above him. He hissed lightly at the impact, only to find his throat very sore and his voice crackly.

Marty swallowed hard, trying desperately to figure out where on earth he was. He couldn't remember a thing – not his name, age, where he lived…not even where he was now.

Confused as to what his hand had struck above him, Marty stretched out to feel the structure. It felt hard and silky, yet as soon as he touched it he heard a faint crack, as though the object was under a great pressure…

His vision began to clear, and he could see white padding all around him. There was some sort of a cushion under his head, and along the sides of the box the satin was sown in such a way as to give a ripple type effect…

_Box?_ Marty suddenly thought to himself. _What am I doing in a box?!?!_

Then the realization seemed to hit him…wherever he was, he was trapped!

Panic began to sink in as an overwhelming fear caught in his muscles and veins. He started to bang his fists against the lid to attract attention to anyone who may have heard him. No one responded, and the horrible feeling of dread swept over him. He was trapped in the worst possible place…

In desperation Marty tore at the lining of the box to reveal the dark wood underneath. Knowing the wood sounded weak, he hit the structure as hard as he possibly could until it began to give way, cutting his hands. He ignored any pain he felt, continuing on until he could finally remove the wood. Soil began to drop into the box from above. This didn't look good. Marty paused to gain his bearings and to settle his nerves at what he had to do next. After all, he'd never had to dig his way out of a box before…

* * *

After several minutes (which had seemed more like hours) Marty managed to force his bloodied hand through the soil to the surface. Grabbing hold of anything he could for leverage, Marty gradually pulled himself free of the earth's grip around him. Pulling his feet free, he collapsed to the ground, breathing heavily from the strain of digging through several layers of soil to freedom. He lay on his back for several minutes trying to catch his breath back before even thinking of finding his bearings on his location.

Eventually, Marty hauled himself up to look around. The graveyard was dark and creepy at this late hour. His eyes still blurry, Marty could make out the outline of the headstones surrounding him – the moonlight casting eerie shadows upon them.

Looking down at himself he found his attire to be a black suit – shredded at the hems – with a white shirt and black tie; exactly the type of suit he would only be seen dead in…

Marty grabbed the tie and pulled it off, feeling it begin to choke him as the fear in him started to return again. He removed his jacket hastily to cool himself down in the warm night air as he stood up on his feet. Feeling a wave of dizziness pass over him, Marty placed his hand on the nearest headstone to regain his balance.

While he waited for his head to settle Marty began to think. He had no idea as to where he was (the name of the town), or who he was at all. His memories had disappeared, and no matter how hard he thought they refused to return.

_Who the hell am I? Where am I? Does anyone even know I'm here?_

Marty moaned softly at the thoughts. He needed some time to think. Slowly he lowered himself down until he was sat on the soil and leaning against the headstone. He glanced towards the hole from where he had dug himself out and shuddered at the thought that someone had buried him alive.

_Who would wanna do that, and why?_

Frowning, Marty decided that hanging around the cemetery wasn't going to get him any answers at all. Pulling his weight to his feet, he quickly brushed himself down and allowed his head to steady once more. He turned and straightened his back to remove the knots…then froze solid when he glanced at the inscription on the headstone he had been leaning against:

_Here lies:  
_**_Martin Seamus McFly  
_**_Born **3rd July 1968  
**__Died **22nd January 1986  
**__Aged 17 years_

_May he rest in peace_

Marty slowly walked towards the engraving. The name felt so familiar to him, yet he didn't know where from. He traced his hands over the letters spelling out the name before him, allowing his eyes to wander in thought as he tried to patch the clues together. The headstone stood at the head of the grave he had been buried in, pointing to the suggestion that…

"Oh my God, no!" Marty whispered in disbelief. Glancing back and forth from the ground to the headstone, he hastily began to move himself away from the terrifying image. He stumbled backwards from the carved stone with his hand over his mouth, realising only now what the clues meant to him as the memories came flooding back – the name on the stone was _his_ name, standing before _his_ grave, where _his_ body had rested only a few moments ago…

_August 4th 1989  
__12:09 a.m.  
__Lone Pine Mall, Hill Valley, California_

"Verne! Verne, wait!"

Jules furiously cycled after him, trying desperately to catch up with him before he reached home. Verne had been frightened badly by something at the cemetery, that was for sure, and had raced off ahead to return home before either of their parents found out they had sneaked out late at night.

Jules eventually managed to catch up to him, racing alongside him and grabbing him by the arm to slow him down. Verne wriggled out of Jules' grasp - tears were flowing from his eyes as he started to ride off again for home.

"Leave me alone Jules!"

"No, Verne! We gotta go back to the cemetery to see if the spell's worked!"

Verne looked away, ashamed to be crying in front of his brother.

"I'm not going back there! No way!"

"Aw Verne! You can't be serious! There's nothing there to scare you! You're just a big baby, that's all!" Jules hoped that would do the trick – Verne never liked to be seen as a baby in front of anyone, let alone him.

But the name-calling didn't work. "Fine! You go back then, if you're so keen to! I don't care what you think of me, I aint goin' back there!"

Jules didn't answer. The terrified look on Verne's tear-stricken face told him he was deadly serious, no matter what he said or did.

Verne wiped the moisture from his face with the back of his hand as he calmed himself down. "You can go back if you want, but don't blame me if mom has a fit at you sneakin' off. It's up to you, only just remember that you need me to let you back in when you get home."

"Why? You deactivated the alarm, didn't you?" Jules asked, referring to the alarm their father had installed a few days after the terrorists had attacked them in 1986. It was a sophisticated state-of-the-art security system consisting of thermal imaging cameras and highly sensitive devices that could identify anyone who entered their property. Only people they knew and trusted were cleared to pass without setting off the high-pitched alarm.

"Yeah, course I did. But only I know how to reactivate it, remember? So if you wanna get back into the house without half the local sheriff's department surrounding you then you best come home with me," Verne countered, knowing full well he had practically won the debate.

After a few moments of thinking out his choices, Jules reluctantly gave in. "Alright, you win. I'll go back home with you. Only, you'd better promise me that you won't tell mom or dad about any of this, okay?"

"Sure. After all, it's both you _and_ me who'll feel mom's wrath if she finds out what we've been up to," Verne replied.

Jules still didn't want to go home without checking on the cemetery. He kept glancing round towards the direction of the cemetery as the two boys made their way back home. Verne noticed his reluctance as gradually Jules slowed his speed and fell behind.

"Jules, will you keep up?" Verne asked out of annoyance at Jules' blatant hold up.

"I have to go check," he retorted, ignoring Verne's persistence to return home ASAP.

"Why not do that in the morning? I mean, when it's daylight? At least you can see then where you're going without using a flashlight."

"Yeah, you're right. A few hours won't do any harm, I suppose. Besides, I'm bushed!"

The two of them eventually reached the entrance to their home. They simultaneously dismounted their bikes, and as quietly as possible pushed them into the laboratory where they always kept them. While the night was still young the two boys made their way to the front door, silently unlocking it under the light of Jules' torch.

Softly, they entered the house, locking the door behind them. Verne looked up to the side of the door where a small grey box hung from the wall. He entered the six-digit code that reactivated the alarm to make it look as though nothing had been touched. The keys quietly bleeped as each one was pressed, which was then followed by a longer bleep to acknowledge the correct code had been entered.

Then, as quickly yet as smoothly as they could, Jules and Verne both made their way up the wooden set of stairs towards their respective bedrooms to hide the fact they had ever been out at all. Within ten minutes, all activity had ceased, and both were fast asleep.

_

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_

_Thanks for all the great reviews; it's nice to be appreciated!_

_Jennifer: I agree, they are the best duo around! They ARE soulmates, so don't worry – I'm not that cruel! (Or am I…)__  
Anakin: hey, don't worry about it! _


	9. Distant Places

**Disclaimer:** I don't own any of these characters or names. I've only borrowed them for the time being, but I promise to return them, however hard that may be ;-)

* * *

**Chapter 9**

_August 4th 1989  
__8:12 a.m.  
__Brown family home, Hill Valley, California_

Verne shifted in his bed into a more comfortable position. He felt more relaxed now he knew he was safe at home, away from the nightmares at the cemetery.

_Saturday,_ he thought, _the best day of the week. I can have a lie in, play some on my computer, watch some TV…_

"Verne," a voice called above him, interrupting his pleasant thoughts. He slowly opened his eyes to peer at the source of the voice…only to find his mother standing above him shaking him awake.

"Aw, mom. It's Saturday! Can't I lie in?" Verne mumbled, turning his head back towards his pillow.

"Normally I would let you, but today is a very special day, or have you forgotten?"

_What special d…dad's birthday! Oh no, I forgot!_

"No, I haven't forgotten. It's dad's birthday, isn't it?" Verne groggily sat up while trying to rub the sleep from his eyes. Clara nodded to him.

"Come on, go and get dressed then we'll go and wake your father up and give him his presents."

Clara turned to head for the door, no less heading to Jules' bedroom to wake him up. Verne moaned softly to himself, then decided not to push the subject away any more. Resigning himself from the warm comfortable bed Verne gathered his clothes together and headed over to the bathroom next to his room. He could hear Clara's futile attempts to wake up Jules, but he knew that the second her back was turned he'd be right back to sleep.

_August 4th 1989  
__8:12 a.m.  
__Outside the clock tower, Hill Valley town centre_

_Twelve minutes past eight._

The digital clock flickered on and off from across the street. Marty squinted to read the digital display from the bench he occupied. The only indication of time he had. Had he really been there so long?

For now he sat alone, his arms wrapped around his knees in insecurity. He had done little since discovering the gravestone with his name on, apart from make a hasty retreat out of the cemetery. He had run straight from the cemetery without looking back, until he had come across the first signs of life near to a parking lot he had crossed called Lone Pine Mall. There he must have seen some of the 'lowlifes' of the town – junkies, drunks, prostitutes; you name it, gathered by the empty parking lot doing business. They had given him funny looks as he'd run on by them. Maybe they knew him, maybe they didn't. Whoever they were, they weren't concerned as to who he was.

Eventually exhaustion had caught up with Marty from the fear and longing to find someone who knew him. He had spotted a nearby bench where he could kip for the remainder of the night, but once settled his mind wouldn't allow him the chance to sleep.

He was too alert with questions that needed answers from someone. Sure, the town looked familiar (especially the clock tower he was sat in front of), but he couldn't remember any of the smaller details, like the name of the town for starters, or even the date.

The date – that was funny. He was going to ask one of the people he passed near to the parking lot what the date was, but then reconsidered. They didn't care what date it was, and probably didn't have a clue due to the effects of the drugs or alcohol they'd consumed.

So here he was now; lost, alone, and suffering from a major headache. He didn't recognise anybody who passed him as they stared down at the clothes he wore. He was still covered in dirt from digging his way out of his prison in the earth, and his shirt especially looked the worst for wear as it lay in tatters. He looked worn out too; bags had begun to develop under his eyes from the despair he felt inside, and the cuts on his hands had only just stopped bleeding. What was he even to do?

The answer came to him almost two hours later. A young woman in a brown station wagon rode up to the street light near to where Marty was sat. He studied her carefully, her features seeming very familiar to him. Her wavy blond hair crept past her shoulders in length, partly placed behind her ears out of her face. She was very attractive, and the loose shirt and jacket did no justice to her figure. Marty was sure he recognised her, and searched frantically through his memory traces to find the one that led to her name…

The lights turned to green, and the station wagon began to pull away. "Hey, wait!" he called, realising this could be his lead towards finding the answers he so desperately sought. Grabbing the jacket sat beside him, he leapt to his feet and began to race after the station wagon.

He jogged behind for as long as he could keep the vehicle within sight, but then lost it as he approached one of the many streets on the outskirts of town.

"Damn it!" he cursed as he searched hard for any signs of where the vehicle had gone. He threw his jacket to the ground in frustration. He took in several deep breaths to calm his taught nerves, taking in the scenery around him. The houses here looked old for the town, and way bigger than some of the others he had passed whilst chasing the car a few minutes ago.

The street felt vaguely familiar, but not as much as he'd expected. Feeling even more lost than ever, Marty decided to trek straight along the road past the houses to see if anything at all would trigger even the smallest memory in his brain as to where he was at all.

_August 4th 1989  
__12:31 p.m.  
__Somewhere on the outskirts of town, Hill Valley_

The sun had risen higher in the sky, making the temperature unbearably hot. Marty brushed away the tiny beads of sweat on his forehead with the back of his hand, as he gazed hard along the street before him. He had been wandering the streets for the past couple of hours or so (unbeknown to him) and had found nothing that resembled a house he recognised at all.

Eventually the exhaustion and the heat of the day were finally catching up to him, and he began to feel the aches in his muscles increase. The shock of it all had taken most of his energy, not to mention the heat and the hunger from not having anything to eat for over twelve hours.

Marty had slowed his walk almost to a crawl, and had resorted to carrying his jacket over his shoulder. He decided the more sensible option was to get some well-earned rest before continuing on his 'quest', and so was now searching for somewhere to stay for a few hours.

He soon came across an old-looking house on its own near the main street. It was dishevelled and in bad need of repair. No one had occupied the house in years by the looks of the exterior, and so Marty gambled his chances that no one was indeed living there now.

Cautiously he made his way to the front door through the overgrown trees and grass covering the garden path. The paint on the woodwork was peeling away, and the windows were covered with dust. The house looked dark and lifeless as Marty peered through the letterbox, which was rusty and stiff.

"Hello?" he called through the opening. The only reply was a faint echo throughout the hall. Assuming it was safe to enter, Marty forced open the door as carefully as he could so as not to draw unwanted attention to himself.

The inside of the house was even darker, with thin slices of sunlight entering through tiny cracks, highlighting the dust that floated from where the door had opened. Marty coughed as he inhaled some of the dust, placing his hand to his mouth in doing so. "Man, I guess someone gave up on the housework in here!" he commented sarcastically.

Entering the first room to the left of him Marty found what he presumed to be the living room. Some of the furniture was still present, including the sofa, which had seen better days. The padding was spilling out from the fabric, while the cushions looked flea-bitten. Marty smiled at the sofa however, thinking how lucky he was to have something other than a hard wooden floor to sleep on.

Draping his jacket over the back, Marty jumped onto the comfortable cushions. The dust floated high into the air, causing Marty to lean forward in a fit of coughing. He didn't mind so much now though – he'd found somewhere to sleep out of the burning heat outside.

Twisting onto his side, he reached out for his jacket to place under his head for a pillow. Settling down at last, Marty allowed the fatigue that had been plaguing him to at last take over his body and mind. He closed his eyes, and fell back into unconsciousness.

_

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_

_Sorry for taking so long, but I'm slowly catching up with the many things I've to do. Thanks to everyone who has reviewed. Enjoy your Halloween!_

_"Head of the Class"__ – Sorry Flaming Trails, I've never seen that! _


	10. When History Met Reality

**Disclaimer**: I don't own the right to any characters, place names or anything related to BTTF.

Sorry I haven't been around for a while – I've been bogged down with schoolwork and all. But, here is the next update!

* * *

**Chapter 10**

_January 22nd 1986  
__11:31 a.m.  
__Hill Valley, California_

Marty's consciousness started to return to him and the sense of his surroundings became more familiar as he slowly aroused from his nap. Slowly he opened his eyes to allow them to adjust to the light. A sudden unexpected hiss by the side of him jolted them open far quicker than he anticipated.

Breathing heavily for a second or two, Marty looked around him, taking in the new surroundings he had not expected to find himself in. The old rotten house he had found to rest in had been replaced with a laboratory of some kind, albeit one with an unusually high roof with wooden beams to support it. Almost like a barn, only Marty couldn't figure where on earth you would find a barn in Hill Valley.

Marty sensed movement to his left, and quickly turned to see who it was. Beside him a man stood – a somewhat older man – leaning over as he worked on something that lay on the workbench before him. His face was obscured by the protective mask he wore, but Marty could still make out his white fluffy hair poking out from underneath. He wore a long white coat, the kind a scientist would wear, only this coat appeared to be covered in oil and dirt rather than chemicals or anything else he thought a scientist would use.

At Marty's sudden jolt the stranger paused in his work and switched off the blowtorch in his hand. He casually removed the mask to reveal his identity. As he did so Marty studied his face carefully for any indication that he knew the stranger at all. Although at first Marty couldn't place a name to the man stood beside him, he could sense that he was close to him. Even though he technically didn't know the man Marty felt safe to be sat near him, feeling no threat.

Marty studied his features carefully, noting every line and curve of the stranger's face. Nothing came to mind.

The older man saw the shock on Marty's face and looked concerned. "Marty? Are you all right?" he questioned in a warm tone of voice.

Marty was momentarily taken aback. The man knew his name, and seemed genuinely concerned for him. Not knowing what else to do, Marty nodded in reply. "Yeah, I'm all right. I just got a little jumpy with the blowtorch there. I think I must've nodded off."

"Are you sure? It's not like you."

"Yeah, yeah. I'm fine Doc, really."

Marty repositioned himself on the stool he sat on as the elder man grudgingly replaced his mask and returned back to the task at hand. It was then that Marty realised the little detail.

Doc? Is that his name? How'd I know that? Weird name. Must be a nickname or something. It wasn't him that had replied, but someone he didn't know inside – a person he didn't recognise as being him had taken control.

Marty didn't think about the subject for too long, as suddenly he was hit in the face by a gush of wind rushing into the building. He felt a familiar twinge of panic all over him as the dust cleared to reveal a dark and sinister man stood in the doorway. The man beside him – Doc – twisted around quickly while removing his mask to be met with the same image as Marty.

Marty felt too far away to make out who the man was. Sliding off the stool, he moved closer to try and get a better look, but froze as the man pulled out an object from behind his back and pointed it directly at him. Marty didn't need to be told that it was a gun pointing at both him and Doc.

A black mask to match the black clothes he wore - to disguise himself from the two men. He stood alone, menacingly, with the machine gun pointed directly at them. Marty had no clue as to why he had appeared or what he wanted, but he didn't like the direction the situation was heading in.

After what seemed like minutes of complete silence between the three of them, the man bearing the gun slowly began to back away from the entrance. He whispered to them in a foreign language Marty could not understand. The voice sounded familiar, but yet Marty sensed it was a voice he feared, not one of a friend. Confused, Marty turned to look to Doc to ask if he understood, but then gasped as he realised Doc was no longer there behind him. He was on his own, facing a madman with a machine gun pointed directly at him.

Frozen in terror, Marty could do little else than to watch as the madman pumped off several rounds square into his chest. Marty felt the impact of each of the bullets as they entered, throwing him helplessly back into the workbench behind. The last he heard were his screams of pain, and the ricocheting of bullets all around him…

Marty's consciousness quickly returned as he bolted upright on the sofa where he had been lying a few seconds ago. Sweat poured from him from the horror he had been dreaming about, and he breathed heavily with shock. He was back in the old house where he had crashed on the sofa earlier in the day, alone and in tact.

Automatically he grabbed the shirt on his chest just to be sure it had only been a dream. Feeling no injuries and seeing no blood whatsoever, he relaxed again. Smiling in relief, he rubbed his eyes free of sleep and shifted his legs over until he was sat upright on the sofa. He leant forward and ran his hands through his hair. The nightmare he had experienced had felt so real, almost like he had relived a memory he still held. He took a few minutes to regain his nerve and for him to then notice the darkness that surrounded him.

_It must be late,_ he concluded to himself. _I'd better set out again, see if I can find anything that might help me sort out this mess._

Grabbing the jacket and putting it on Marty slowly shifted towards the front door, the remnants of the nightmare still running through his mind. He shuddered at the thought, but then quickly replaced them with thoughts that were more important – where to go next. The sooner he found help, the sooner he could rest easy.

_August 4th 1989  
__8:03 p.m.  
__Brown family home, Hill Valley_

All the Browns had congregated within the confines of the living room, enjoying a relaxing end to a special day for Emmett. Some of the presents he had received were indeed surprises to him – like a pair of socks he had been given by Verne with "World's Smartest Dad" written on the side, and a silk tie with the periodic table on the front courtesy of Jules. Clara had bought him a small silver picture frame with a photograph of the whole family, taken recently. Emmett smiled at the picture, hugging his wife dearly in gratitude for a wonderful gift.

They had gathered earlier in the evening around the sofa to reminisce about the past, and to recall some of the wonderful memories they had. Emmett always knew the heart of Clara's memories would always lie in the past from whence she came from, but many of his would lie in-between the 19th century – with the growth of his family – and the late 20th century – where he had shared a wonderful friendship with Marty, his 'partner in time' he had once referred to him as.

"When did you and mom first meet dad?" Verne asked, sitting on the floor in front of his parents.

Emmett turned to Clara; unsure as to whether he should tell his younger son the truth or not. They had met when Marty had gone back to 1885 to prevent Emmett's death. Emmett didn't want to disrupt the timeline by meeting Clara and falling in love with her, and so had not gone to the train station to pick her up. Whilst paying a visit to the bridge over Shonash/Clayton/Eastwood ravine Emmett had heard Clara's screams for help as she had lost control of her buckboard and had gone to rescue her from falling over the edge of the ravine, which he did successfully.

Emmett answered the problem for them both. "Well, we met at the railway station when I had offered to meet the new schoolteacher," Emmett explained, knowing it was safer to go with the less dramatic option. Maybe someday he would tell his children the truth – when they were older and understood better the perils that time travel could hold.

"That's so boring!" Jules remarked. "Why couldn't you have met in the middle of a train robbery, or in a situation where you had to rescue mom off…a runaway horse or something?" Emmett gave a knowing glance to Clara before answering that question.

"I think you should just be grateful that we did meet, otherwise neither of you would have been born!" he replied. "Anyway, how many fathers can say that they met their wife 36 years before they were born, hmm?"

That answered their question. The two boys had a smile on their faces. They hadn't thought of that before! They knew, however, that the secrets of the time machine were to stay secret, especially after the incident with Biff and the alternate 1985. No matter how tempting it was to tell their friends they were not to, as it could place the whole of the space-time continuum at risk. A frightening thought it was, at that.

* * *

Marty feared he was going round in circles. Either that or his mind was playing tricks on him.

All the houses looked the same, but whether he had already passed them once or just remembered them from some distant memory was another matter.

By now the whole scenario he was in had hit him hard emotionally. Fearing he would never again find his true identity, Marty had begun to cry silent tears of loneliness and desolation. Finally he had reached the edge of desperation, and was ready to concede himself to being a lost cause when he looked straight ahead to find a house that felt very familiar to him – that he truly recognised.

Sensing some hope at last, Marty studied the house for any clue as to who actually lived there. Was this _his_ house?

Feeling a glimmer of hope revive in him, Marty walked over to the house. Reaching the property he sensed his familiarity with the house grow ever more, making him sure that this house held some importance to him.

The perimeter of the house was marked out with a high wooden fence, and with a gate along where the driveway met the road. The fence had been painted a dark mahogany colour, which made it blend in with the night sky.

Marty walked up to the gate to enter the property, but cursed as he found the gate to be locked apparently for the night. Feeling sure that this would be his best bet to finding out the truth, Marty considered his options. He could return back to the run-down house he'd found and try again tomorrow, but he didn't know for certain if he'd find this house again. It had taken him some time to find it after all.

He could go to a payphone and look in the book for the number and try calling the people who lived here, but then again he didn't have any money on him.

It was then he was left with his last option – to climb over and see if he could knock on the door. Marty didn't feel comfortable with this option for fear of getting into trouble with the authorities, but if his strong gut feeling was correct the occupants of the house would know who he was and would be able to help him. He had nothing to lose.

Throwing his jacket over the top of the fence, Marty rolled back his sleeves and grabbed hold of the side. Scraping against the side with his feet, Marty pulled his weight up to the top. Pausing at the top to catch his breath, he continued on until he could sit with each of his legs hanging over on either side of the fence.

_First a grave, now a fence. I don't think I was ever cut out to be a climber, that's for sure!_

Swinging his other leg over the top, Marty shuffled until he was balanced on top of the fence. Peering down, he took a deep breath to prepare for the drop down. He was almost there.

He threw his jacket to the floor first. Then he lifted himself off the fence, hitting the ground like a stone. The drop momentarily knocked the wind out of him as he lay on his side, allowing himself a minute before heading towards the house. Dusting himself off, he peered up to take in the grandeur of the abode stood before him. Then as his breathing settled, he casually stepped forward to make his way to the front door, rehearsing what he was going to say to whoever may live at this address. He was so lost in his thoughts that he wasn't aware of a tiny pole-like device sticking out of the soil beside him, and the thin red laser beam that pierced through the darkness effortlessly. His leg intercepted the beam, and all hell broke loose.

His thoughts were shattered by the high-pitched whaling of an alarm, slicing through his ears and cutting through to the bone. Instantly his hands flew to his ears to protect them, but even then the alarm still screamed in his head. The cuts on his hands stung like mad, but he didn't dare to lower them. He was paralysed with shock and pain as he lowered himself to his knees in a visual plea for mercy.

Emmett heard the alarm ring loud outside, jumping momentarily at the unexpectedness of it. Clara looked to him, fear etched across her face as Jules and Verne stood quickly from their seats ready for action.

"Emmett, what is it?"

"Don't panic, it might not be anything to be concerned about." Emmett tried to reassure her, placing a hand on her arm. He rushed from his seat to head to a cabinet behind them where a television was housed. The screen showed exactly what the security cameras were picking up outside. Emmett stared at the image on the screen. All he could see was a figure knelt in the middle of the driveway holding his head in his hands in a futile attempt to block out the dreadful drone of the alarm.

_Good, the alarm works!_ Emmett smiled to himself. The alarm had purposely been designed to make any burglary attempts as difficult as possible for any thieves or attackers. Quickly he picked up the shotgun by the side of the cabinet and headed towards the front door. The adrenaline pumped through his body, preparing him to face the intruder who threatened him and his family.

"Emmett, what are you doing?!?" Clara's eyes widened as she watched her husband make his way to the door with the shotgun in his hands.

"I'm going to see who it is that's so keen on interrupting our evening!" Emmett replied with a determined look on his face.

He carefully unlocked the door first; only to be greeted with the same ear piercing shrill of the alarm the intruder had met. Quickly he turned to the alarm control box and entered the six-digit code to silence the alarm. Turning back to the open front door, he pointed the gun in the direction of where the intruder knelt.

However, the determination he had felt a moment ago seemed to die away as he took a closer look at the stranger on his driveway. He wore what seemed to be a black suit and a white shirt underneath – the jacket draped loosely over one of his arms. Yet the suit and shirt were covered in dirt and shredded at the seams, making him look lost and vulnerable. Looking closely, Emmett could see blood and dirt on the stranger's hands above the chestnut hair. His small build gave Emmett the illusion that he was merely just a teenager, scared and lost.

The visitor remained kneeling on the floor, allowing Emmett to move closer. He kept his gun trained on the young man as he approached. Clara and the boys stood watching from the door.

The stranger began to move his hands from his head as he noticed the absence of the alarm, making Emmett more wary as he approached. The stranger slowly began to stand up with his back turned to the scientist. Emmett held the gun tighter and closer to his side as he called out:

"Put your hands in the air where I can see them!" The intruder did as instructed by placing his hands behind his head. Annoyed that he couldn't see the identity of the intruder, Emmett pressed on.

"Who are you? What do you want?" Emmett called to the stranger. The stranger heard his words and froze, keeping his eyes trained to the floor. Then smoothly, the stranger turned his body to face Emmett for the first time, making the scientist gasp in recognition and almost making the gun slip from his grasp.

Emmett's eyes grew wide with disbelief at the sight he saw, feeling every emotion cling to his heart inside as he whispered:

"Marty…"


	11. Figuring Things Out

Hi! I was a bit unsure whether I wanted to post this chapter or not. It's one of those chapters you want to post, but you hope people won't think you're morbid or anything like that…; ) Anyway, here's the next chappie. Enjoy…

* * *

**Chapter 11**

_August 4th 1989  
__8:47 p.m.  
__Brown family home, Hill Valley_

"Marty…" 

His name was whispered with the mildest disbelief. Marty had turned to face the stranger on his command, only to look at a face he recognised instantly.

His voice had sounded familiar, but coupled with the face Marty could not deny that it was him - the scientist from his nightmare. The man who had called him by name and had shown concern. The man he only knew as Doc, and who had left him alone to face the madman with the gun. The man who now stood before him holding a shotgun to his chest.

The colour in Marty's skin paled as soon as he recognised Doc from his dream. He felt the strength fall from his muscles as fear began to take over. Seeing the gun, Marty felt sure the nightmare had become real, and could only guess that his life would be over within the next few seconds.

His head felt dizzy, and his legs felt shaky. At last he could take it no more, as he started to lose consciousness and slump forward to the floor.

Doc anticipated his fall and dropped the gun to lean forward to prevent Marty from smacking his head on the cold, hard concrete driveway.

Marty saw the floor close in on him and felt his body being caught in Doc's arms. Then the darkness took over as his eyes fell shut and his consciousness disappeared once again.

_August 4th 1989  
__9:03 p.m.  
__Brown family home, Hill Valley_

The sound of the clocks ticking was the only thing to disturbed the silence within the entire house. Clara had sent both Jules and Verne to bed, but she knew they wouldn't be able to sleep. The night's revelations had been too 'exciting' for them, as it had been for both her and her husband. Jules had unexpectedly been keen to leave the scene – Clara had seemed bewildered by this but thought nothing more of it. The mystery surrounding the events had been enough to keep their minds pondering for the rest of the night.

Now deep in thought, Emmett sat at the dining table in complete silence while Clara filled a bowl with hot water in the sink and added some antiseptic in order to clean Marty's hands. He sat with his arms stretched out in front of him, his fingers interlaced and still as he stared into outer space. Clara studied him for a long time, before deciding that she needed some sort of answer from him just to be sure he was still with her.

"How can this be, Emmett? How can this be happening?"

Emmett didn't respond for a while. Clara wondered if he had even heard her question. She was about to speak again when she saw him take in a deep breath to answer.

"To be honest, I'm not quite sure."

That wasn't the answer Clara had expected. She had expected a long explanation or list of the possible answers. His response unnerved her a little, as it was unusual for him to be so unsure of an answer. She didn't know how to respond herself.

"Is it possible he didn't die, three years ago?" The question felt rough as Clara released it from her throat.

"I saw it happen, Clara. You told me yourself the doctors had pronounced him dead. Besides, where would he have been all this time? Why suddenly come back now?" Emmett shook his head, dismissing the possibility.

"Then what is it you're unsure of? I mean, can we then presume that this Marty is a version of himself from the past. It's the only other way he could be here now."

"I agree – to some extent," Emmett replied. Clara turned to face him, a confused frown beginning to form on her face. Emmett saw this and expanded on his reasoning. "In some ways that _could_ be the explanation, but not all of the evidence points to that conclusion."

Clara was unsure as to what Emmett was implying. She sat in the chair across from him placing the bowl of water in front of her, meaning for him to continue.

He did just that. "Firstly, Marty appears to be the same age as when we last saw him…alive," he swallowed hard at the meaning of the sentence. "He looks to be about seventeen. This could point to the fact that it is a younger version of himself who has travelled forward to this point in time. However – then we have to ask ourselves _why_ has he travelled to here? Is he here by accident? Is there an event about to happen that we don't know about that he wants to prevent? If the third point was to be the case – i.e. an unknown event – then we need to find out what that is, and when it will happen, etc."

"However, I'm not so sure that there's a simple answer to this," Emmett added. "One thing is, the clothes he's wearing."

"His clothes?"

"Yes. His clothes are shredded and dirty, which I don't think he would plan to travel in, unless he's been in some kind of accident. Also why did he feel it necessary to climb over the gate? Why didn't he use the intercom at the side to let us know he was there?"

"Maybe he didn't know it was there, especially if he is from another time. I would also like to know what he did to his hands. They looked an awful mess." Clara posed.

"Hmm…and the fainting spell outside – he knows me. Why would he faint as soon as he recognised me?"

"Yes, I see your points. But Emmett, I don't understand what it is exactly that you're trying to tell me. I mean, if it isn't a younger version of himself, then who else could it be?"

Emmett paused as he looked up to face her, afraid to say what he wanted to say next. Finally, he felt he needed to as his stomach once more began to twist inside. "Well, unless I'm mistaken…the suit that he is wearing…looks identical to the suit he was dressed in when he was…buried, back in January, 1986."

Clara watched him for a moment, allowing the facts he had explained to her to sink in. He knew when they had, for her eyes widened in realisation. That expression was soon replaced by one of confusion.

"If he hasn't come here from the past…how, exactly has he come here?"

Emmett once again fell silent whilst he considered his answer. "I don't know," he finally offered. "I think, maybe we should ask him that question once he comes to."

Clara nodded in agreement as she moved away from the table. She picked up a small, dry towel from the side and the bowl of water, and made her way through to the living room where Marty lay on the sofa. When he had fainted out on the driveway Emmett and Clara had felt it best to take him in and place him on the sofa until he woke up. He was heavy enough for them to carry into the living room, let alone up the stairs to a proper bed.

Clara had noted the cuts on his hands and had offered to clean them up once they had lifted him inside. Emmett had been unable to neither speak nor take his eyes off Marty for one second, as though this was a dream that he would eventually wake up from. He couldn't believe it was Marty he was touching once again, and he was reluctant to let him go for fear of losing him.

Softly she knelt beside Marty on the sofa and gently took one of his hands in hers. She placed the towel in the bowl, then lifted it carefully back out and twisted it to wring out the excess liquid. Tenderly she drew the towel over Marty's hand, slowly removing the dirt and any possibility of an infection. Clara hissed slightly when she saw the irritated areas where the cuts were located. She didn't think they were too deep, but still caused concern. She continued on, while Emmett remained in the kitchen alone to think out his thoughts and ideas. He was still in shock from the night's events.

_August 4th 1989  
__9:23 p.m.  
__Brown family home, Hill Valley_

The sight of the gun reminded Marty of where he was again. He was in the laboratory, facing the madman with the machine gun as he was set to kill him. Once again he was alone – Doc had disappeared from behind him as he had before after their brief conversation. The madman stood sturdily, gun in hand, aiming for his chest. The first of the bullets were released from the gun, and Marty felt the pain all over again, taking his breath away as they sliced through…

He woke with a start, making Clara jump back startled at his unexpected arousal. Beads of sweat covered his forehead and he breathed heavily to regain his composure. Clara leaned forward to pat his face with the towel she held in her hand. The water was cool, and felt good against his skin. He began to calm down, when he eventually realised that there was someone beside him. He turned to see who the mystery person could be.

"Relax, Marty. You've just had a bad dream, that's all." Clara spoke softly to ease his nerves. She could sense he still felt uneasy about the whole situation, and no doubt had many questions he wanted answers to. Emmett felt the same way.

Marty raised his hands to rub his eyes, but then found he could hardly move them. Looking down, he found his hands had been wrapped in bandages. Clara sensed the question from the confused expression on his face, and endeavoured to answer it.

"Your hands were cut, so I cleaned them up as best I could. They might be a little sore for a few days, but I don't think any of the cuts are deep. I don't think there is any infection in the cuts, but you might want to see a doctor, just in case." Marty looked worried at the words Clara said to him, which she clearly saw and smiled at. "How are you feeling?"

Marty didn't respond for a minute. He was still trying to take everything in as best he could. Scanning the room for an indication of where he was, he at last decided to speak up for the first time that night.

"Confused," he replied, his voice hoarse and sore. Clara's smile didn't fade. She had expected an answer like that. Marty frowned at her smile. "Where am I? What happened?"

"You fainted outside. Emmett and I brought you into the house. Do you remember?"

"No, no I don't," Marty forced out. He watched as Clara stood to her feet beside him.

"I think I should let Emmett know you're awake," she informed him.

Marty frowned again, but then winced from the headache that was beginning to grow in his head. "Emmett?"

Clara turned and frowned herself. She hadn't expected that question. "Yes, my husband Emmett. Why?"

"Would that be Doc you're talking about?" Marty guessed. Clara's concern began to return on her face.

"Yes, that's the nickname you usually called - call him," she corrected, turning back to head out to the kitchen. Marty watched her leave, then returned to scanning his surroundings in a desperate bid to clear the fog from his mind. Slowly he sat himself up, the headache increasing so as he did. He didn't feel sick as such, but there was an unmistakeable knot beginning to tie itself at the pit of his stomach, making him feel very uncomfortable and very uneasy about the whole thing.

Marty felt unsteady in himself. He leaned forward and rested his head in his hands, running them through his hair. Emmett entered from the kitchen just as he was doing this, and immediately became concerned. "Marty? Are you all right?"

Emmett sat beside him, placing a reassuring arm on Marty's back and rubbing it gently. Marty shook his head, refusing to look up in case the headache returned.

"I don't know," he replied roughly, feeling both his stomach and his head perform somersaults at the same time. "I don't know what to feel anymore."

Emmett looked at him sympathetically. It had been a rough night for everyone, especially Marty by the looks of things. He thought it best that all the questions he had in his mind were left until tomorrow. "I think you should get some rest. There's a spare room upstairs where you can sleep if you like. Once you're fully rested we can have a good talk. Only if you feel up to it though." Emmett waited for a reply, but Marty just simply nodded his head. "Do you feel nauseous at all? Dizzy, light-headed? Any other aches or such?"

"No. Just a headache." Marty reassured him. He looked up at Emmett and made eye contact. His eyes seemed bloodshot and weary, and Emmett was sure the young man looked like he wanted to cry. He didn't mention his thoughts though, knowing full well that Marty was most probably still suffering from shock.

Emmett made his way to his feet, keeping watch of Marty as he too stood in case he suddenly felt dizzy. "I'll show you to your room," Emmett politely told him. Slowly they made their way up the wooden stairs to the top; Marty held his head the whole time from his headache, making Emmett more wary over his condition. Gradually they made their way to the bedroom at the end of the hall, where Clara had prepared the bed for Marty. Emmett opened the door for him to enter, and allowed him to settle down. "If you need anything at all, just help yourself. You know where everything is." Emmett added, knowing though that he could trust Marty.

Taking one last glance to be sure Marty was fine, Emmett wished him goodnight and closed the door to. He smiled softly to himself, feeling so happy at last to have his best friend back once again, even though he did have many questions he wanted answering. _Oh stop it Emmett! Just be glad that he is here once again, instead of wondering how and why all the time!_ Emmett scolded himself.

Marty listened as he heard Doc's footsteps disappear further down the hall. He thought about the last comment Doc had said to him over and over again, replaying like a broken record. _"You know where everything is…"_

The truth was, Marty didn't know where _anything_ was. He didn't even know the name of the town he was in, let alone where the house was located. Marty felt like he was going insane, feeling the pressure on his mind constantly. Tomorrow he needed answers to try and find the missing parts of the puzzle lying uncompleted in his head. Somehow he still felt alone, even when the people around him knew who he was.

Lying back on the bed, Marty tried to dismiss the negative thoughts in order to get some much needed rest. He didn't know the exact questions Doc wanted to ask him, but he had a feeling he knew what type of questions they were going to be. And there were going to be a lot of them. Tomorrow was going to be a real challenge.


	12. The Dreaded Conversation

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything of Back to the Future – I think if you've read the first 11 chapters then you'll get the idea. ;-) Here's the next instalment, and I warn you now you it might be a bit squeamish…

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**Chapter 12**

_August 5th 1989  
__10:34 a.m.  
__Brown family home, Hill Valley_

Marty squinted at the morning light entering through the window of the bedroom. He looked up towards the ceiling, allowing his eyes to focus and his mind to wake up. He slowly sat himself up against the headboard, rubbing his eyes free of the grogginess he felt.

He still wore the same shirt and trousers he'd been wearing for the past – what was it? One, two days? He wasn't sure. He didn't have a clue what the date was.

He hadn't bothered to change into fresh clothes. He'd felt so tired that he'd literally flaked out on the bed and gone to sleep where he lay. Not having any pillows under his head had been a bad idea – he now felt the ache in his neck as he pulled himself off the bed.

Yawning, Marty made his way out through the bedroom door into the hallway. He still felt stiff all over, but at least his headache wasn't so bad.

Cautiously he made his way to the bottom of the stairs, noting the empty bedroom he passed belonging to one of Doc's children. As he neared the bottom he became aware of voices coming from the opposite end of the house. Not wishing to earwig into the conversation Marty began to make his way through the living room, pausing abruptly only at the sound of his name coming from the direction of the kitchen. He stood quietly, concerned as to why he had been mentioned. After all, everything was still strange for him, and he still didn't know who to trust.

"I bought some clothes this morning for Marty to wear. Nothing much – just a pair of jeans and a shirt for the time being."

"Thanks Clara. We'll need to sort arrangements soon, but first I need to ask him some questions that might help me to discover a little more on the situation we have here," Emmett answered, a smooth yet slight determined tone to his reply. Marty winced at the thought of the interrogation he might have to face with Doc – one that no doubt would not easily help to solve the mystery laid before them.

Marty cautiously moved closer to the doorway, allowing himself to take a better look at the picture before him. Doc was sat at the table with his back to Marty, evidently unaware of his presence. Clara busied herself around the worktops and table, tidying everything from the night before. She shuffled about the kitchen, placing the few items she had bought in their proper places. She halted suddenly as she caught a glance of Marty standing close to the door.

"Oh! Good morning Marty! How are you feeling?"

Emmett spun around quickly in his chair, checking for himself if it was Marty. He stood quickly to the side, almost as if it were royalty who was present before him.

"I'm feeling…a little better, thanks," Marty replied, a slight smile rising on his face with a taint of uncertainty. He had felt better.

"Do you want something to eat, a drink at all?" Emmett offered, gesturing to the rest of the room with his arm out wide as though there were no limits to his offer. Marty lifted his hand to the offer, shaking his head in refusal. He didn't feel hungry, even though when he'd been searching for the house previously he'd felt ravenous. Somehow the experience of finding hope had knocked his appetite out the window.

"No, thanks." He looked to Doc, who still carried the same concerned expression as he had the night before. Feeling a tad guilty for refusing, Marty added, "I think I might take a shower, if that's all right."

"Of course! Here – there's some fresh clothes for you to change into." Doc handed him a white plastic bag with the jeans and shirt for him to wear. Marty took it graciously, though the atmosphere between them felt stifled and thick, as though neither of them wanted to do something that would upset the other.

Turning to head back towards the stairs, Marty felt the weight of the brief conversation fall from his chest, as though he hadn't exhaled for the past couple of minutes or so. He still felt nervous around Doc, and still felt so alone and lost about everything – even himself. He needed answers, but yet at the same time he dreaded learning what they might be. He slowly made his way back up the stairs towards the bathroom, not daring to look behind him to see if Doc had followed.

As Marty left the kitchen Emmett sighed quietly to himself. He watched as his friend disappeared at the end of the hall, feeling a heavy weight press down upon his mind. He so desperately wanted to help in any way that he could, but yet he felt reluctant to seek the truth he so eagerly desired. He needed answers.

The warm, soothing water of the shower helped to relax Marty somewhat, allowing his mind to escape the pressure that had been building up since his arrival at the house. The water helped to remove the dirt that still reminded him of his unknown origins; where his journey had began. A journey that was far from over.

Stepping from the shower, he quickly dried himself. The white carrier bag with his new clothes sat on the toilet seat, beside his torn clothes that now lay on the floor. Peering into the shopping bag, Marty carefully removed the jeans and shirt and put them on. They felt so good and fresh against his skin.

Feeling refreshed and a little more comfortable Marty walked to the top of the stairs. Feeling the dread in him once again rise at the questions Doc would have for him, he took in a slow deep breath to prepare himself mentally. He allowed his legs to take control down the stairs while his mind lay elsewhere. He really wished he could be transported somewhere away from here.

It was no use though. The subject of his sudden reappearance would come back to haunt him again and again, so running away wouldn't solve anything. He just felt he needed more time to let it sink firmly into his brain, to let it register so he could understand it better. He needed more time.

Marty reached the last step and rounded the corner where the banister ended. He gradually made his way to the end of the hall where the kitchen lay, presuming that Doc was still there where he had last seen him. The table had remained occupied by the still figure of Emmett Brown, lost inside his thoughts about the situation at hand. He felt uneasy not to be able to explain to his wife what he at least understood to be happening – he was the scientist, the one who could figure these things out. He wasn't supposed to be in the dark at all.

Marty sensed the condensed atmosphere as he stepped into the kitchen. Everything was still and peaceful, with the only intrusion coming from the clock that hung high above them on the wall - the sound of time passing by. Marty didn't know if Doc had heard him or not, for he never moved. He seemed far away, lost in a place only he knew of.

Marty made his way to the side of the scientist. Doc hadn't heard him, apparent when he jumped at the sudden presence that had appeared beside him. "Marty! It's you! You scared me!" Doc clutched his chest as he breathed hard from the unexpected scare, all his previous thoughts vaporizing away within a matter of seconds. He soon caught his breath again, as Marty sat himself down softly beside the weary shape of his friend.

"Sorry, Doc. I didn't mean to," Marty quietly apologized, almost in fear as though he had done something wrong. This, after all, wasn't his home. He still felt as though he needed to retain his manners here, as though he were a guest. "What were you thinking about?"

Doc placed his head on his hand in support, returning back to his previous train of thought. "A few things," he simply replied.

"Like what?"

"Oh, you know, all sorts really." He sighed deeply to himself uneasily, uncertain. "I just like to lose myself in thought sometimes. It helps me to relax a little. Speaking of which, how are you feeling?"

Marty shifted a little in his chair. He was feeling the guilt of dumping all this on Doc out of nowhere. "I'm fine – I'm feeling better than I did last night that's for sure. Where's Clara anyway?"

Doc smiled faintly at his answer. Marty was so transparent when he lied – Doc knew he could sometimes be a little stubborn in telling him whatever was pressing on his mind.

"Clara's gone to do some shopping. Marty – I know you've been through a lot recently, and believe me, I want to help you however I can…"

"Doc-"

"Marty, I want to help." Doc cut him off, looking at him sternly but kindly. He wasn't prepared to take no for an answer this time. "Whatever you're thinking, whatever you're worried about, you can tell me. I can't help but feel some guilt for what happened that day, knowing that it was my fault. You know you can trust me, I am your friend you know."

There it was again – "_you know_…" Marty sighed softly as his mind felt heavy once more. Doc was looking concerned for him again, so Marty endeavoured to explain.

"That's just it, Doc, I _don't_ know. I don't know anything anymore. Ever since I arrived here last night I've felt so lost and alone not having a clue as to who you really are. I can't remember a thing, and everyone acts as though they've known me for ages, more so with you and Clara. I'm really sorry, Doc, but I'm afraid I only know your name, not your personality." Marty stared forward onto the tabletop. He could see Doc's eyes drop to the same place, and felt a twinge of guilt for being so cold to the person who had taken him in to his home and his heart - for being his friend.

"I'm sorry for sounding that way, I know that's not your fault. The only thing I know of for certain is that I am Martin Seamus McFly, I'm seventeen years old and I'm a nobody."

Marty paused for Doc's reply at such an unfriendly statement. But the silence remained. Instead of showing the hurt on his face, Doc's expression twisted to confusion as the meaning of Marty's last sentence came finally into focus.

"Seventeen?"

"What?"

"You said you were seventeen."

"I know I did. So?"

"Marty, how did you know what your full name was?"

"I…" Marty paused as he thought his answer over. "I…I don't know. I guess you must've told me."

"I only called you by your nickname."

Marty shrugged his shoulders in response. His mind was doing overtime trying to recall where he had found that information. Doc interrupted that process.

"What exactly do you remember?"

Marty tipped back in his chair and crossed his arms in contemplation. Instead the darkness remained. He simply looked to Doc and shook his head - his only answer.

Doc placed a hand to his chin in thought, scrutinizing all the evidence piece by piece in his mind. First Marty showed up on his driveway, wearing a ragged suit. Then Marty fainted at the sight of him, although Doc wondered if that had anything to do with the gun he was holding at the time. Then he noticed the cuts on Marty's hands and the apparent lack of ageing. Then there was the fact that Marty couldn't remember a thing since coming back, apart from his name and age (which was wrong for the year he was in).

Doc leaned forward in curiosity as he asked, "Do you remember something that happened a while back. Something important, say, on October 26th 1985?"

Marty frowned in confusion as to why Doc suddenly wanted to know this. "October 26th? I…I don't know. What happened?"

"What about January 22nd, 1986?"

"Doc, what's this all about?"

Doc frowned himself. October 26th should have been important to Marty. It was the date Doc had shown him the time machine for the very first time, and it was the day Marty was sent back to 1955. That, for anybody, would be impossible to forget. Yet Marty sat here by his side, not having a clue as to the significance of the date in question. What the hell was going on here? How had Marty ended up here?

_It can't be time travel because he can't remember anything,_ Doc concluded. _It can't be he's been missing for three years because he hasn't aged. So, how do you reappear three years later without ageing and without time travelling? It's like he's suddenly woken from the dead or someth-_

Doc froze in mid-thought. The statement had meant to be a joke, but now it seemed a very likely possibility. Marty noticed his feared expression in an instant. It was unmistakeable – as though someone had told him the world was going to end.

"Doc?" Marty felt his nerves become over-active, fearing Doc was having a heart attack. "Doc, what is it?"

Doc slowly turned his eyes to focus them on the young man sat beside him, the expression never dieing for one second. "Marty, can you unbutton your shirt for me?"

"_What?_" Marty spurted out. He didn't know Doc very well, but he didn't think he'd get this response.

"Please Marty, just undo the top few buttons of your shirt."

Marty decided to comply with this. With everything he'd gone through recently, this request didn't seem half as strange as it seemed.

Carefully he loosened the top of his shirt to halfway, not allowing it to open. He wasn't that gullible. "What are you gonna do?"

Doc stood from his seat, noting the suspicion on Marty's young face. "I just want to check something, that's all."

Marty narrowed his eyes to consider the scientist, before allowing him to do whatever it was he wanted to do. Doc moved himself closer warily, and carefully pulled Marty's shirt open just enough to see the centre of his chest. What Doc saw didn't make him any more comforted.

Doc's expression changed quickly to shock as he noted the tiny scars on Marty's chest, each of them no wider than a centimetre. He softly ran his finger over one of the scars near to Marty's collarbone, feeling the rough skin that had grown over a wound that had once existed there. The skin surrounding the injury was deeper in colour, and still looked partly swollen. But it was there, along with five other similar-looking wounds randomly placed across Marty's upper torso.

Deep in shock, Doc searched for his seat and slowly sat back down. Deep inside he fought to keep back the sick feelings that were battling to escape. He couldn't believe it. He had hoped that he was wrong. He had hoped the wounds hadn't been there. A reminder of just what Marty had done for him over three years ago. The six scars of the bullet wounds Marty had received that were meant for Doc…

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_Just a small note to say thanks to everyone who has read this so far, and for all the reviews._


	13. The Dreaded Conversation, Part II

**Disclaimer** goes here about me not owning anything related blah blah blah… Enjoy the next chappie!

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****Chapter 13**

_August 5th 1989  
__12:16 p.m.  
__Brown family home, Hill Valley_

Doc stared intently at Marty, refusing to allow the image to register in his brain. He refused to accept that the person who had died three years ago now sat before him very much alive – breathing, moving, thinking, feeling…

Six bullets had clearly left imprints. Those very six bullets had stolen Marty's life and now they were the proof of something only short of a miracle (if that was the right phrase to use). It was the very proof that could only point to the possibility that Marty had been brought back to life.

Doc didn't respond for a long while, the shock stealing his ability to talk. He could feel the sharp ache in his heart as old wounds were painfully reopened. Marty started to panic – the silence that had fallen between them was failing to end and was making him uneasier as it continued to pass. He feared wanting to know the revelation Doc had made, but then felt an overwhelming need to end the dread of unknowing.

"Doc, what is it?"

Doc's eyes began to glisten as eventually everything began to sink in. He finally lifted his eyes to Marty's, revealing to the teenager his pain.

"I'm so sorry…this should never have happened…"

Marty felt uncomfortable with the ordeal, and quickly fastened his shirt. Doc laid his head in his hands, trying desperately to refocus himself.

"Doc – _please_ tell me what it is."

Marty's tone had become stern. Doc could sense his desire to know the truth, and cleared his throat in an attempt to remove the constriction that had developed.

"Do you have any idea what happened three years ago, on January 22nd, 1986?"

Marty shook his head almost immediately, the date obviously holding no significance whatsoever. Doc tried to wipe away the tears from his eyes as he prepared himself for the story that lay ahead. This was not going to be easy for either of them.

"About four years ago I made a deal with this…group to acquire some materials I needed for an experiment I had been working on for a number of years." Doc chose his words carefully. Marty was already growing suspicious though.

"What sort of deal?"

"Nothing much-" Doc stopped abruptly as he caught a glance over at Marty. The teen wasn't buying his cover-up, so Doc decided to give in. After all, didn't Marty deserve to know the truth?

"All right. I made a deal with a group of Libyan nationalists. They were planning on blowing up this building or something, and they wanted me to build the bomb for them."

Marty's eyes widened in disbelief – _Is this guy serious?_ He clearly thought. Doc continued before Marty even had the chance to add his comment.

"I know, I know – it was stupid of me. It was insane, in fact, but I made the deal in order to acquire the plutonium I needed. I wasn't planning on using the plutonium in the bomb at all! I may have been able to build a bomb, but I wasn't prepared to allow a group of terrorists hell-bent on killing people for the good of their 'cause' to use it on innocent civilians. So instead I replaced the plutonium with some old pinball machine parts that were lying about, in the hope that they wouldn't notice."

Marty shook his head in almost total disbelief. How could Doc be so stupid? "What did you need the plutonium for?"

Doc frowned for a moment in confusion. "I needed the plutonium to power the Delorean, you know that." Marty's own expression also switched to confusion at the comment. "Oh, I forgot you don't remember."

"The Delorean? Since when do cars run on plutonium?"

"No, the actual engine of the car didn't run on plutonium," Doc knew he needed to explain things further.

"You see, way back in 1955 I was hanging a clock in my bathroom – in the house where I used to live on Riversi-" Doc shook his head, presuming once again Marty already knew the story. "Never mind. I struck my head on the edge of the sink, which knocked me unconscious. When I came to, a vision came to me of a device I named the Flux Capacitor – a device capable of allowing solid matter to travel through time!"

Marty looked as though he was taking it all in. Whether he understood a word Doc was telling him or not was another matter.

Doc continued on. "It took me another thirty years to finish the project, but I finally completed the time machine early in June 1985. In order for the time machine to power itself through time I needed something that would create 1.21 jigowatts of electricity. I needed a nuclear reaction to produce such energy – hence the plutonium."

"So what does this have to do with whatever it was you saw before?"

"I asked you to meet me at Lone Pines Mall on the morning of October 26th 1985. Do you remember?" Doc asked, a slight trace of hope appearing in his voice.

"No, I don't remember that at all. I'm sorry."

Doc's face sunk once more, the hope evidently fading. He continued anyway, although with less enthusiasm than before. "That morning I wanted to show you the time machine on its first test run. I wanted you to record the experiment for me, to prove it if it was a success. I…I also wanted you there as my friend. You did, after all, help to construct the time machine."

Marty still looked confused, although somewhat more comforted to hear that he was appreciated.

For a wide stretch of time following Doc went through the entire story of the time machine's first adventure (or misadventure) back to 1955. He explained how on the night he had met Marty on Lone Pines Mall the terrorists had managed to track him down to kill him. In the original timeline they had succeeded, shooting Doc squarely in the chest at close range. Luckily for him Marty had jumped into the Delorean in a desperate bid to try and outrun the terrorists before they killed him as a potential witness. In doing so Marty had been transported to 1955 on the very night Doc had invented time travel – November 5th 1955. If this hadn't happened, Marty wouldn't have been able to warn Doc of the impending fate that was awaiting him thirty years ahead, and Doc would not have been alive in this day.

Doc then moved further on in the story, briefly explaining how he had come to meet Clara in 1885, and how the original time machine had been destroyed on the train tracks when Marty had returned home.

The whole time Doc was reliving his memories Marty remained engrossed, trying both to recall anything of what he was relating whilst at the same time trying to remember the story for future reference. If this had been such a big event in his life, why couldn't he remember any of it?

Then came the part Doc had been particularly dreading. "The Libyans didn't succeed that October night obviously, thanks to you," he smiled gratefully, but faintly. "I've still got the letter upstairs."

"So what happened to you and Clara? How did you get back to 1985 if the time machine was destroyed?" Marty had unknowingly diverted the conversation.

"We didn't come back from the past straight away. We lived in the old west for just over ten years while I built the second time machine. We also had children to raise – Jules and Verne – and so we both had to continue to work to pay for both our housekeeping and parts for the time machine."

"Eventually I was able to build a very simplistic time machine, using a locomotive that was no longer used because it was in bad need of repair. From there I was able to travel ahead into the future and make any other final adjustments that I wasn't able to do in the 19th Century."

"Didn't you like living in the 1880s, Doc?"

"Very much so! But Clara and I both felt it would be better if we moved forward to 1985. It would be much better for Jules and Verne educationally, and I felt it to be much safer in terms of the better medical care and lifestyle. Though I must admit, it was a lot quieter back then. Things seemed to be so much smoother and not as hurried…"

Doc felt himself beginning to pull off the track of the purpose of the story, and so swiftly he steered himself back on the main path. "We returned on November 16th 1985, to give you a little bit of time to adjust to a steady life back home after the hectic time we'd had with the Delorean." Doc's nerves were beginning to tense even more as once again he neared the part of the story he favoured the least.

"I can't imagine how hard it must have felt for you to adjust to all the changes that had happened in my life – in _both_ our lives. I'm only sorry I let you down…"

Marty's face showed signs of another question about to appear, but Doc didn't let it come to surface this time. "January 22nd, 1986 – that's when it happened. The terrorists came to reclaim their 'stolen' plutonium and to kill me. They came out of the blue, taking away someone who was very close to me. That was the day you saved my life – by giving yours." Doc glanced up at his friend, waiting for his expression to change. Silently Doc cursed himself for being so blunt about the matter, but wanted it out so badly just to release the pressure in his mind. He felt so selfish.

"What do you mean?" Marty spoke slowly but clearly. He gave Doc the unsure look again, wanting him to clarify further.

"You were shot six times…square in the chest. You saved me, by pushing me out of the way." Doc paused at this moment, to allow Marty the chance to process the words before he continued. After what seemed like minutes passed Doc felt that he should continue, as Marty was obviously in some state of shock. Doc didn't know exactly what to say next. "I know this has come as a bit of a shock to you –"

"A _bit_? That has to be the understatement of the year!" Marty suddenly cut in. "Doc, do you even realise what you're saying? You're telling me I was killed? That…that I was _shot_?!?!"

"Yes, that's what I'm saying. Marty please –"

"But how is that so – this all has to be impossible, right? How, then, can I be alive after…how long? How long ago did I die? Wait a minute – you said something before when I mentioned my age, didn't you? When I said I was seventeen. Has that got something to do with this date in January you keep mentioning, Doc?" Marty rushed through his questions in panic – all of them asked in one long breath. It was now Marty's turn to be the question master.

"Yes, Marty it does. Just calm down! You see, you were born in June 1968, and you…died…in 1986, which makes – made – no, _makes_ – you seventeen, technically. Only, it's now the 5th August – "

"_August?!_"

"- 1989." Doc completed his sentence whilst Marty sat wide-eyed before him. The fact that it was August had overwhelmed him somewhat, but now he sat in complete silence, obviously finding it hard to accept that he had been dead for over three years.

Marty's face passed through many different expressions – from shock to confusion, and finally through to deep upset. He was feeling more lost than ever before, and wished that the ground could swallow him up until he realised the meaning of the phrase.

Marty continued to remain in a trance for a long time, frightening Doc more than when he'd fainted outside the night before. Doc didn't like to ask his next question, but he felt he needed to clarify where Marty stood.

"Are you remembering anything? Anything at all?"

Without moving his eyes from wherever it was he had fixed his gaze, Marty slowly but clearly shook his head to say no. His mind appeared to be working overtime to its full capacity. Doc decided to leave him be to allow himself to collect his thoughts. He pushed himself away from the table and moved over to the kitchen worktop nearby. He wanted to give Marty some distance, but didn't want to move too far away in case the young man needed him for anything.

The long silence blanketed them for a good while. Marty eventually moved, but only to lean forward onto the table. At long last he lifted his head to turn to Doc for further conversation.

"What about my family?"

"Your family?"

"My family – do I even _have_ a family?"

Doc turned to look at Marty with a peculiar expression – the question appearing completely unexpectedly. Though then again, he could understand the anxiety his friend must have been going through not even knowing if he had a family that cared for him or not.

"Yes, you do have a family that cares for you very much."

Marty's eyes seemed to brighten somewhat at the thought of having a family to support him. Although his memories of them were non-existent (which upset him) he felt a warm feeling inside, though only briefly.

"I don't remember. My own family, and I don't remember them!" Marty laughed softly to himself, more in disbelief than anything.

Doc could sense that Marty wanted to ask him about them, and so proceeded to take up the conversation.

"I don't know why you don't remember. I'm afraid I don't know _that_ much about them, but what I do know is that you love them very much." Doc made his way back to the table to seat himself down once again. Focusing on Marty, he continued. "You have two siblings – a brother and a sister, and they are both older than you. Your sister – Linda – is two years older and is a very headstrong young woman who hates being told what to do. Dave – your older brother by five years – is a bright young man who has a promising career ahead of him."

"Your mother is called Lorraine, and she…well…she's a good mother, judging by how she has raised you. Your father – George – is a talented and successful writer and is a man of many responsibilities."

"Wow! You weren't wrong Doc!" Marty answered in surprise. He hadn't expected any of that. He'd expected the kind of low-down family who were struggling to make ends meet. Only Doc knew the real answer…

"So what about me, Doc? What is there to know about me?"

"Where do I start! For one thing, you're a talented musician. Music has been a passion of yours for as long as I can remember. Your ambition, I believe, is to be a famous rock star one day."

"Really?"

"Really."

Marty sat back in his chair with the warmest of smiles. Folding his arms, he slowly took in what Doc was saying – and he liked the sound of it. Maybe his life wasn't going to be such a drag after all!

Doc carried on with his analysis. "You're also my assistant with any projects I may be working on, and – if I'm not mistaken – you were the first person to travel through time!"

"_The_ first?"

"Not including Einstein, of course. He was the first time traveller, but you were the first _human_ time traveller."

Marty shifted with excitement in his seat. He now felt more relaxed where he was, – he felt somewhat safer in Doc's presence. Even after the revelation that he had in fact been dead for three and a half years – a fact that remained at the forefront of his mind – he still felt inclined to feel good about himself. He didn't let his guard down completely though.

"How long have we known each other Doc?"

"About six years – er, well, nine years…if you –"

"If you count the years I've been dead. That's alright Doc, I get it," Marty filled in for him, understanding the implications made by Doc's apparent uneasiness.

"Er…yes…that's right." Doc felt his apprehensiveness creep in again without question. Eager to move on, he turned the discussion to another direction. "You also have a girlfriend called Jennifer."

"A girlfriend? What's she like?"

Doc felt his throat become rough, and so tried to cough to clear it. When this didn't work he left the table to make his way over to the sink for a glass of water. Marty, however, endeavoured to continue.

"You make my lifestyle sound so good Doc! I can't believe it! I must have the best life going! What's Jennifer like? Is she tall, pretty with blue eyes?"

Doc returned to the table once again with the glass of water at hand. "Almost," he replied in response to the last of Marty's questions. "She's about the same height as you, and she has hazel eyes, with wavy blonde hair. But she is very pretty, as you would agree I'm sure."

Somehow he already knew Doc's description of Jennifer. It felt strangely familiar to him, as though he had seen the woman in question before somewhere.

"You know, it's funny you should mention Jennifer having wavy blonde hair. I remember, when I was trying to find my way here, I saw a young woman in a brown station wagon stop at the lights. She was really attractive, and I remember thinking I'd seen her somewhere before. Like she was someone I vaguely knew though didn't know very well."

Doc instantly picked up on the little details. "A station wagon? Jennifer's dad owns one of those. He lets her use it to drive to and from work because it's cheaper than having two cars. Where did you see her?"

"Near the clock tower, outside the cinema. She headed out to what seemed like the outskirts of town. I lost track of her before –"

Then something occurred to him. Marty seemed to realise that he could remember all the details of the previous day – something he couldn't do before. He felt this was what Doc had picked up on from his body language (and his sudden frown), so he pushed the issue further.

"Hey Doc, you think my memory's coming back?"

"No, no – that's not what I was thinking about. It's just that Jennifer drove over here yesterday to drop off a present for my birthday. She came over in her father's station wagon at about quarter past eleven in the morning. She would have taken the road past the clock tower and on through the local estate just a couple of blocks from here. I think it _was_ Jennifer who you saw yesterday, and followed to the outskirts of town. She was on her way here."

"That was Jennifer? No wonder she seemed so familiar. Does she…does she still think about me?" Marty was beginning to press both the issues at hand and his emotions too far, allowing himself to feel the harsh pain all over again. Doc could feel that Marty could continue this for the rest of the day, so decided to try and direct the conversation to a close.

"Marty – she's never forgotten about you! She's…she's moved on, she's met new people, made new friends –"

" – found a new boyfriend?"

Doc reluctantly nodded in response, knowing there was no way to avoid the truth. "It's been three years, Marty. She loved you very much, but she needed to overcome her grief. I know it's hard to accept that she is seeing someone else, but you have to learn to let go."

Marty sighed softly to himself in defeat. He knew Doc was right – he had been right about most other things – but he still couldn't help having the feeling of abandonment. "I guess so," Marty resigned.

The awkward silence threatened to return, so Doc felt it was the perfect place to end the conversation. "Anyway, I think it's time we ended this discussion. You need to rest yourself – you've been through enough as it is. You don't need this extra emotional strain."

"Yeah, you're right Doc."

Doc pushed himself from the table once more, preparing to end the dead atmosphere the conversation had produced for them both.

"We'll just have to see where the future will take us next."


	14. Shopping For Some Answers

Well, here I am again with the next chapter of the story. I have no idea how long this story will be – I'm guessing about 20 chapters. But be warned, some other things may suddenly pop up…; )

**Disclaimer:** ditto as before : P.

**

* * *

****Chapter 14**

_August 6th 1989  
__11:41 a.m.  
__Local Wal-Mart_

The automatic doors swished open to reveal the interior of the Wal-Mart superstore. The lone figure strode in like a gunslinger on the prowl for his next shootout. The place was already overcrowded so early in the day with people eager to finish their shopping. Doc remained optimistic. Marty wasn't showing any serious repercussions of his recent experience, so Doc figured everything was slowly becoming normal again. But things had yet to change… 

Jules had somewhat become withdrawn within himself, even from his own brother who he normally confided in. Verne was active, as usual, although a little disappointed that Doc had relaxed his time fixing the time machine. After all, the primary reason why he was in such a hurry to repair it was now alive and well, and residing with him for the time being.

Doc wanted to make sure Marty was going to be fine, and so insisted that he stay with him for a short while. Being a man of science, Doc could understand that some symptoms took a while to show up. Patience, in this case, was especially considered a must. But in truth, other things were plaguing Doc's mind. Just how exactly could you explain to someone you had supposedly been dead for three years? Doc was not so sure it was a good idea for Marty to be reunited with his family. Old wounds were sure to be slashed painfully open if it were to happen.

Clara had decided to remain at home whilst Doc went out shopping for the few necessities they required from the superstore, along with several vital components for the train. Jules had wandered off to a friend's, while Verne found his homemade laboratory in his room more interesting than shopping. Marty didn't feel secure in himself yet, and so had decided not to join Doc for the morning. He still had a few questions he wanted answering himself.

Before setting out Doc had discussed their plans for the next few days to come with Marty. Doc knew it wasn't going to be easy explaining to Marty the consequences of his sudden reappearance, and how he possibly may never see his family again. For the time being though, that issue wasn't going to be covered.

Doc had soon completed the shopping, and was at the checkout ready to pay for his purchases. Doc was especially eager to leave the store as soon as he could to return home to sort the complicated situation out. The whole of time was possibly at stake – a very large issue to be concerned about.

Doc stood close to the counter, his mind wandering as he studied a packet of mints on a sweet shelf nearby. His attention was caught by a giggling sound from a nearby checkout, forcing his curiosity to look over. A young woman with coiled blond hair smiled as her boyfriend held her close. They swayed from side to side as he placed his cheek against hers. They seemed madly in love with each other as they stared into their partner's eyes…

He studied them for a moment, especially the woman. Neither turned towards where he stood, but he caught a clear glimpse of her features as she turned to face him.

It was Jennifer.

By all accounts she had moved on, as Doc certainly knew. He was only too relieved to be the only one witnessing this situation.

Doc caught himself in mid-thought as Jennifer looked up to catch him looking. She smiled at the instant recognition, unwrapping herself from the grasp of the young man who held her so close. She waved to be sure he was looking in her direction, before calling "Hey Doc!"

Doc quickly smiled and gestured his reply, before beginning to pack his small bag of groceries. He looked over once again as Jennifer stepped away from the till, bags in hand ready to be transported home. As her boyfriend took the bags from her, she motioned towards the exit of the store, followed by a swift motion over towards Doc's position. He nodded in reply, carefully kissing her cheek before moving out towards the doors.

She took only a matter of seconds to reach Doc's side. A smile embellished her features, with a glint of true happiness shining from her eyes. "Hi Doctor Brown!"

"Jennifer! Hello! How are you?"

"Very well, thanks. How was your birthday?"

"Um…enjoyable," he simply replied, overdressing the truth. "Thank you very much for the gift, it was very thoughtful of you."

"No problem, glad you liked it. I didn't really know what to get you, so I asked Clara for some advice."

Doc simply nodded politely, finding the conversation somewhat uncomfortable for an unknown reason. The past few hours he'd experienced no doubt contributing.

Hoping to change the subject Doc inquired, "So how are things with you and…Mark?" He stuttered a little over the name as it eventually came to him.

"Fine, never better. He's starting a new job in a couple of weeks, over at the high school. We're…hoping to find a place of our own soon. You know, move into a flat or something – away from here if possible."

Catching the last part of the sentence, Doc gave a quick frown. "Leaving Hill Valley? Whatever for?"

"Well, I'm a little old to be living with my parents now, don't you think?" she responded, thinking that Doc would simply agree with her.

"Twenty years old? No, I don't think it is."

"Twenty-one, almost." she shrugged, as though she thought it to be a lame excuse after all. "But it's not just that. I want to try and restart my life. Get out and about, have some fun. Mark is a wonderful person to be with – I don't wanna keep him cooped up here just for my sake. He lives over in Grass Valley, so we might move to there."

The news was unexpected to Doc, but not unreasonable. He supposed it would happen sooner or later – but deep inside he was glad she would have less chance of running into his new houseguest, however long he would be staying for.

"Well, whatever you choose to do – as long as you're happy that's all that counts." Doc smiled, patting her arm gently to reassure her. He turned to leave past her, almost releasing the tensed breath he had been holding ever since she had approached to speak to him. He almost lost that breath in an instant when she called over to him.

"I see him," she spoke evenly and clearly – almost as though she was making it clear to the both of them. Doc mentally froze in his thoughts, turning slowly towards her.

"See…who?"

"Marty…in my dreams – quite often actually." Doc relaxed again, but not obvious to her. "After all this time…everywhere I go, I still see him – waiting outside my house; driving his truck…I feel like I'm going mad sometimes. Seeing things that aren't there. It's depressing, I know…"

"No it isn't! You cannot just forget an intimate relationship in the space of a heartbeat. You're not talking to someone of your own age when you say that, you know. You're not trying to impress me – I can understand what you mean."

She smiled faintly. "I know. I just feel…maybe it's time I learned to let go. Give him – and myself – peace."

Doc simply smiled, half wishing to himself that Marty could be here to witness this to reassure him he was worrying about nothing. Jennifer hadn't forgotten – just simply moved on with her life.

"See you soon, Doc." The young woman turned and left, not wishing to add any more to the dead conversation she had begun. Doc watched as she left, gathering some of his own thoughts before heading back home to where his problems still lay in sorting out the mess that had decided to arise.

Allowing Jennifer a few minutes leeway, the scientist headed toward the same exit Jennifer had left by. Feeling somewhat empty after his encounter, he remained silent for the rest of the journey home, lost in his thoughts. Doc felt the anguish for his friend, wishing there was something better he could do to help him. The time machine was to be the cure in this case – only time could heal these wounds.

As the van pulled away a solitary figure stepped from the shadows by the automatic doors of the store. He smirked as he remembered Doc's face vividly from their previous meeting. With cool serenity he lifted a cigarette to his lips, searching his pocket with his other hand for the lighter. The touch of the cold metal felt good. It felt almost as good as it had done three years previous, when he had had his first encounter with Doc. The flame danced menacingly before the stranger's eyes as, maliciously, he softly spoke:

"Doctor Brown – how good to see you again …"

_August 6th 1989  
__11:50 a.m.  
__Brown family home, Hill Valley_

Clara could never understand just how Jules and Verne went through so much clothing in one week. Verne always liked to please his mother by placing his dirty laundry in the wash basket – a habit his brother loved to poke fun at him for. Jules preferred the disorderly approach – most of his clothes were usually to be found under the bed or left lying on top of his desk. Clara kept warning him that one day they would have to send out a search party for him in order to find him underneath the piles of clothing and junk.

Opening the door to Jules' room was no big surprise then. He had inherited his father's reluctance to keep his belongings put away and his room tidy. _It's a wonder he can find anything in here!_ Clara thought to herself as she began the tedious task of searching for the clothes that needed a long soak to remove the dried-on stains.

One thing she did notice about the bedroom was the unmistakeable presence of an aroma that always seemed to hang on in the room, no matter how often the room was cleaned. The scent would change often – sometimes it would be a cinnamon scent, whilst sometimes pine would be present. Whatever it was, Clara couldn't think as to just what Jules got up to in there. She simply assumed it was to do with an experiment he was working on.

CDs and clothing were scattered all about the room, making it even harder to find anything – a typical teenager's trait. Searching hard through the piles of books, Clara stumbled into something hard on the floor by Jules' desk. The item lay hidden beneath one of Jules' many black t-shirts. Carefully lifting back the t-shirt, Clara could see the item in question was a heavy black book. Curiously, Clara placed the pile of clothes she had gathered to one side to kneel closer to her new discovery. The shadows camouflaged any further clues, so Clara carefully picked the leather-bound book and placed it onto Jules' bed. The unexpectedness of the weight of the book was a shock as Clara almost dropped it. The bed itself gave way slightly from the impact.

The front cover, absent of any writing, offered no clues as to the book's content, and so Clara lifted the book open to read the inscription inside. The verse made no sense to Clara; it's words masked by the language in which it was transcribed. Moving further into the book's pages Clara became more disturbed by the black and white images accompanying the words. Some were very graphic in detail, in reference to the meaning of the verses beside them, Clara could only believe. There were pictures of men and women holding out their hands, allowing what looked like blood to trickle through their fingers to the ground in ritual. One even showed a young girl cutting open her hand with a curly-shaped dagger – a snake wrapped around her arm watching as she did so. Why on earth would her eldest son have such an explicit book in his bedroom?

Tracing her fingers along the edge of the page, Clara continued to turn further into the contents of the book; it's old, musty smell drifting in the air with each turn. Her eye eventually caught a glimpse of something white hidden between two of the pages near to the back of the book, acting as a marker. Clara carefully placed her finger between the pages, opening the book to reveal where the piece of paper lay. The image she was confronted by didn't make her any less comforted.

Again the writing was not in English. The picture opposite could only tell her so much. It was of a young woman, reaching out to what appeared to be a spirit floating beside her, as though she wanted to touch it. The spirit was of a man dressed in rags. He was pulling away from her, as though he was forbidden to go near her, but at the same time was forcing himself to go to her against the force holding him back. He looked in pain, but was also angry.

What does it mean? Clara could only guess. The spirit appeared to be of someone who was wishing to be reunited with his lover, but what could that mean? Studying the picture more carefully, Clara could make out a small, sharp object by the woman's side. Almost like a dagger. And beside that stood two containers, each highly decorated with elaborate patterns and symbols.

The woman herself was knelt by a mound of earth, stretching far beyond the woman's reach. It looked almost like a grave, only there was no…

A grave. That was it. A vague story of some description began to form in Clara's mind at long last. The woman was knelt by the grave of her lover, trying to reach out to his spirit as though to bring it back. As though she wanted him to be alive again…

Clara shook her head in disbelief. She didn't want to believe the thoughts that were running through her mind.

Throwing the book shut, Clara plucked it from the bed where it rested and headed for the open doorway. She felt very disturbed by the mere thought of what her own flesh and blood was involved in. She never imagined her son would become so engrossed in such practises, or would even imagine keeping such items in his possession as the book she carried now.

Emmett would be back soon, she knew. She needed to talk to him, to try and settle her uneasy mind. Then they could both confront Jules about the whole situation, and why he had suddenly withdrawn himself from his parents and brother.

She only hoped to God Jules wasn't involved with Marty's sudden return…


End file.
